Away from it all
by Trespaises
Summary: Part ten added. The secret is out.
1. Away from it all part 1

This is my first attempt at a parallel universe. It forks out sometime after The Whine Club in season 7. Thanks to Misti for the idea that shattered my writer's block and who has been so helpful throughout. Thanks too to Marissa for supplying the Frasier-related nutrients that keep me focused, inspired and writing.  
  
Away From It All (part 1)  
  
By Amy (amydekanter@yahoo.com)  
  
  
  
Each day Daphne worked harder at exhausting herself. Dr. Crane, who in the past had suggested that Daphne put a bit more enthusiasm into her cleaning, now complained that she was constantly underfoot with a rag, mop or duster. Both Mr. Crane and Eddie escaped the apartment often to avoid their new regimen of respective exercises which left them panting and fatigued but only took the tiniest edge off of her own nervous energy. Even Donny, who had always loved how lively and affectionate she was, had started to worry about her level of over-attentiveness and had begged her to slow down a bit.  
  
And yet it still was not enough. No matter how busy she kept herself Daphne's mind kept going back to the Christmas party, nearly two months ago.  
  
She had never experienced such a persistent, nor such a vivid, memory; all senses honed to sharp little points as if being used for the first time, all focused on the moment -- and on the person -- who had made it so important: Dr. Niles Crane.  
  
She would be in the middle of doing something - anything from shopping to having sex with Donny - when, without trying and against her will, her body would remember the satin feel of Dr. Crane's coat lining and the reassuring weight of it on her shoulders. She would recall the clean, cool scent of the man who wore it and who had placed it gently around her. Her ears heard his voice as if were not the same voice she had heard for the past six years, her eyes saw his eyes as if she had never noticed before how blue they were. Since that day she could not turn off the light without seeing his face. She could not even stare into space without the vision of him appearing.  
  
And so she frantically tried to keep herself occupied, refusing to admit that nothing was enough to counter feelings even more powerful than the memory. The one thing she had not done during the past two months -- could not do -- was sit still and figure out what those powerful feelings were.  
  
Dr. Niles Crane had been in love with her. For six years, they said, he had been in love with her. That now he loved someone else should have negated what she had learned, but it did not. If anything it added to the churning tempest within and Daphne did not even have the courage to ask herself why.  
  
Of course, there were some thoughts which crept in when her guard was down. The most glaring was that upon finding out Dr. Niles Crane was in love with her, her reaction was completely different from when she thought her secret admirer was his brother Frasier. Completely different.  
  
When she thought it was the elder Dr. Crane who had feelings for her, Daphne felt panic and dread. There had been absolutely no question of her feeling the even slightest bit romantic about her employer and, while she hated to hurt him, she knew she had no other choice but to tell him so.  
  
When Dr. Frasier Crane himself clarified that it was Niles who was in love with her, Daphne had felt panic and. she had no idea what she the other thing was, but it was not dread. And at no time had that been more apparent than at the Christmas party, while wearing his coat and looking into his blue eyes.  
  
Bloody hell, was there nothing in this oversized apartment she had not yet scrubbed, dusted, washed or vacuumed? Dr. Frasier Crane had warned her away from his wooden statues, complaining that she was close to polishing their features clear off. Already he accused her of causing surface erosion to his floors and furniture.  
  
At least Dr. Crane would not be dropping by today; he was away somewhere with Mel. His girlfriend. Lady friend. A lady. Like his ex-wife. Like the women he dated. Money and success, the makers of American aristocracy. And yet he had been in love with a working class woman from Manchester for six years.  
  
At least he would not be dropping by today. That was the thought she had started with and had intended to carry in a completely different direction from where it had ended up. Thoughts did that. Lately it seemed that in her mind, all roads led to Dr. Niles Crane.  
  
Daphne tried again. At least he would not be dropping by today. That was a good thing. Out of sight, out of mind, Daphne thought grimly. He was out of her sight and she was out of her mind.  
  
Perhaps the sock drawer could use some rearranging. Dr. Crane liked his socks sorted by weave, but colour made a lot more sense. And if he did not like it, she would have something to keep her busy while she put everything back. Once again a woman with a purpose, Daphne strode into Dr. Crane's bedroom. She would not think about him, she would not think about him, she would not think.  
  
The telephone rang. Eager for a distraction, Daphne rushed out to the living room before she realised it was not the house line that was ringing, it was Donny's cell phone. He had left it behind.  
  
After only a moment of indecision, Daphne picked it up. Apologising to Donny later would give her something else to fill up her time.  
  
"Donny Douglas' phone," she answered.  
  
"Hello. Is this Donny's secretary?"  
  
"No, it's Daphne." If she had not recognised the voice, she would have recognised the tone. The voice from the depths of Mel.  
  
"Even better. This is Dr. Mel Karnofsky. Could you give him a message?"  
  
"I don't."  
  
"I need him to call me, no, wait, I don't think he'll be able to reach me. Could you tell him to get in touch with my attorney, Gwen Ellis, of Vaneiden, Ellis and Rodney? Are you writing this down?"  
  
"Yes," Daphne lied, annoyed. "I'll tell him when I see him."  
  
"Tell him he needs to send her the prenuptial agreement he drafted for Niles and I, there are a few details I'd like her to iron out."  
  
"The what?" Daphne sank down to the couch. Dr. Crane was getting married.  
  
"The prenuptial agreement. That's P-R-E-N-U-P-T-I-A-L. They are legal papers, you don't have to understand, just write it down, Donny will know what to do."  
  
"A prenuptial agreement." Daphne repeated it, unable to make it real.  
  
"Yes, by this afternoon if possible. And Daphne, I want you to keep this conversation to yourself. Niles and I are eloping and we want to keep it from our friends and family for now."  
  
"I.I will."  
  
"I'll call later if I need anything else." Mel hung up without saying goodbye.  
  
Daphne sat holding the silent phone. Dr. Crane was getting married. Possibly as soon as tonight. The unidentified feeling roared and howled inside her incoherently. A prenuptial agreement. Who prepares a prenuptial agreement when they elope?  
  
Someone Dr. Crane wanted to marry, that was who.  
  
Inside Daphne it became very silent, very dark. Quietly respectful, like a funeral home. 'We want to keep it from our family and friends,' Mel had said with her usual sensitivity. What did that make her, Daphne wondered. Only even better than Donny Douglas' secretary.  
  
So that was what had kept Donny working so late last night. He had not said a word about it to her but of course he could not. To lawyers confidentiality was sacred. Like priests.  
  
Like psychiatrists.  
  
Eventually it got dark and quiet outside Daphne as well, but she only noticed when Donny's phone rang again. How long had she been sitting there, staring at nothing? Two hours? Three?  
  
She picked up the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Daphne, Dr. Karnofsky again. Did you give Donny the message?"  
  
"No, he's left his phone here and I don't know how else to reach him."  
  
"Look, since you already know about the secret, I need you to do something else for me. Call the hospital and ask for Alexandra Ng. Ask her to confirm that I'll be attending the conference in Atlanta and that I'll be staying on to perform the surgery they requested. Ask her to make the necessary arrangements."  
  
"Two tickets?"  
  
"No, just one, why would I. oh, that's right, Niles," Mel giggled, suddenly sounding very different, almost human. Then she must have remembered to whom she was speaking because her tone changed back to the way one speaks to someone who is neither family nor friend nor social equal. "No, I'll be busy while I'm there. We'll plan for a proper honeymoon later. You'll remember not to tell anyone won't you?"  
  
"Yes," Daphne said.  
  
"And do try to get in touch with Donny. I've left three messages at his office and I know he's expecting my call."  
  
"Yes," Daphne said again.  
  
If Mel had left messages at Donny's office, there was little more Daphne could do to find him. She did call Alexandra, though. The noise inside had quieted down so she did not really need to keep busy, but sending Mel to the other side of the country felt like a task worth doing. A task to make her forget Dr. Crane was getting married.  
  
Dr. Crane was getting married. Unsteadily, Daphne stood up, lost her balance and sat back down. The apartment was swaying. She forced herself to stand up and stood wavering for several seconds until she found her sea legs and made her way to her room. The elder Cranes and Eddie would be back any moment and she needed a place where she could continue staring into space in private.  
  
Not bothering to undress, Daphne crawled into bed. Dr. Niles Crane filled her mind. She reached over and picked up the gift he had given her for Christmas to replace the earrings he had bought for Mel. It was a beautiful wooden music box with carvings of a forest full of mystical creatures. At the centre of the scene, kneeling under a pear tree, was a slender unicorn with deep and gentle eyes.  
  
"For your collection," Dr. Crane had told her. When she opened it the exquisite sound of Debussy floated out. He had ordered it made especially for her because "you told me once it was your favourite."  
  
Daphne had been touched beyond words, at once forgetting the awkwardness of having to return her earlier gift. The earrings he had given Mel were splendid, of course, but this. to imagine Dr. Niles Crane picking out something like this, something he himself had to hate, simply because he knew Daphne would love it.  
  
She had thrown her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, realising at once that this time it was different. Not for her - she was already busy not thinking about that - but for him. Before when she hugged or kissed him she would pull back barely noticing, but noticing nonetheless, the lingering smile on his face she had once mistaken for shyness. This time, he retreated before she did, hardly glancing at her, smiling not at her but at the anticipation of going out to meet Mel, which he proclaimed he had to do at once. The door closed behind him while Daphne was in the middle of trying to thank him again.  
  
Daphne had placed the music box next to her bed and wound it up every night before going to sleep. If she did not know how to feel about Dr. Crane she knew exactly how to feel about the music box: She loved it. It would never be just a part of her collection; it was its own individual treasure, something almost living that she spoke to and caressed. She loved it so much she forgave it for the dreams brought on by its lullaby. Dreams which invariably featuring the younger Dr. Crane.  
  
Who was getting married. Daphne ran her trembling fingers over the graceful carvings, still trying to figure out whether she should feel anything about the news. And while she was trying to decide, tears started streaming down her cheeks. Apparently she was sad. And then the crying became bone- rattling sobs it became apparent that she was not just sad, but wretchedly miserable. Dr. Crane was getting married. To Mel. To someone else.  
  
The resident Dr. and Mr. Crane returned but they must have thought she was staying at Donny's because neither of them called for her. Daphne lay on her bed, salt-saturating her pillow. She stared at the unicorn long after its music had finished, long after the apartment became quiet, sometimes seeing the gift, sometimes seeing the blue eyes of a man who one night noticed she was cold and put his coat around her shoulders.  
  
The night was long, with tears ushering her in and out of sleep a hundred times until finally Daphne woke to daylight instead of darkness and her eyes, while sore and tired, were all cried out.  
  
The morning light was bright and harsh. This will never do, it said in a cross voice and sternly ordered her out of bed. Daphne obeyed. The new day reminded her that even though she had never claimed to be unselfish, neither was she someone who dwelled on spilt milk. It was simply not her. It never had been and just because it felt like her life was over.  
  
Waves rippled along the floor of her room and Daphne nearly lost her balance again. Where had that thought come from? Of course her life was not over, not because of something as silly as this. Even if she had forbidden herself from identifying her feelings for Dr. Crane it was too late to start now. She still had a life and she should bloody get on with it.  
  
Briskly, Daphne pulled the covers over her bed, locking tight against the temptation to spend the next twelve hours under them. She took a cold shower to shock herself back into sobriety and dressed in the first things she pulled off her shelf. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed but that would pass . with time.  
  
Daphne faltered. Time. She could barely imagine coping with space, but how in the world would she be able to live with Time? The whole lifetime ahead of wondering and of trying not to. She had to get out of her room.  
  
The apartment was empty. Guiltily, Daphne remembered that Mr. Crane had an early doctor's appointment today and that she had bowed out. At the time she had had plans, but then did not tell either of the Crane's that her plans had changed. If only she had. There would be something to do with all this Time.  
  
Daphne glanced around helplessly. Not much had changed since yesterday's cleaning frenzy, leaving her with absolutely nothing to do today. If she did not find something to occupy her time she would go insane, she knew it.  
  
What if he had not gone through with it? What if Time were in her favour and he had not married yet. Daphne chided herself for the hope that accompanied that thought. She did not even know if she wanted him herself and she was already reserving him from anyone else. How could she even begin to imagine she might love him if she were such a poor friend to begin with? How could he have possibly been in love with someone like her for so long? And why had he stopped?  
  
Defeated, Daphne sat down heavily on the couch as she had yesterday, again staring at nothing and again seeing his face. Whatever fighting spirit had been in her earlier had seeped out soon enough. She could kill herself trying to pretend everything was all right or she could close herself against all feeling and do what she had done yesterday - sit very still and try not to think. Since she had more practice at the latter, Daphne opted for the tried and true and slowly slumped forward.  
  
In the middle of staring at the wooden grain of the coffee table, Daphne's psychic bell started chiming. Shut up, Daphne told it. She may as well accept that this would be the first of many days that would stretch ahead of her, knowing Dr. Crane would not be dropping by as he used to for a visit. Surely now if he came at all it would be with his new wife and she did not want the bell calibrated to her, thank you very much.  
  
Stubbornly the bell continued chiming, and Daphne covered her ears with her hands but all that did was raise the pitch to a wild clamouring when suddenly it stopped. The front door opened and Daphne stood up. It was Dr. Crane. Dr. Niles Crane. They stood frozen, staring at each other for several seconds.  
  
"Daphne, I'm sorry. I used my key because I didn't think anyone would be in." He hid his hand behind his back, but not before Daphne saw the new band of gold on his finger. Heart deadened, she stared at him. Whatever her feelings for Dr. Crane, it was now officially too late to try and sort them out. He was married.  
  
"I. my plans changed," she said. She did not mention the ring. If he was hiding it it was because he did not want her to know. Presumably Mel had not told him she'd spoken to Daphne the day before. It was just as well. Ordinary words were hard enough to get out without having to choke up congratulations.  
  
"Er, look. I'm sorry I barged in on you. I'll be out of your hair in just a minute." He avoided looking at her.  
  
"You are not staying?"  
  
"No, I'm going to the cabin. I just came to pick up the keys, Frasier left them for. ah, there they are." For the first time Daphne noticed some keys on the sideboard. Still keeping his left hand behind his back, Dr. Crane picked them up.  
  
"I thought your. Mel, was in Atlanta for a conference." Despite herself, Daphne stared. She could not help it. She had missed him.  
  
"Oh, yes, she is. I'm going alone." Casually, he dropped the keys into his pocket then hid his right hand behind his back as well. "Well, good-b.." this time he did meet her eyes and, once again, froze.  
  
"Are you." he came closer. "Are you all right?" he asked. The gentle concern in his voice was almost more than she could bear.  
  
"A bit of flu," she said hoarsely, quickly rubbing the tears back into her eyes. She had forgotten about her night of mourning. She must look bloody awful.  
  
"Why, then you should be in bed," his voice became agitated. "Would you like me to make you some soup? Do you need to see a doctor?"  
  
"No, I'm fine." His offer was an echo of the kindness he had always shown her. Except according to his brother then it had not been mere kindness, but loving attention. Daphne's tired tear ducts began to swell. "Really." His hand was on her forehead and then slid down to her cheek, searching for signs of fever and Daphne could not take it anymore. She did not want him adding any more to her trough of torturous memories.  
  
She burst into tears.  
  
"I'm not ill," she confessed. "I'm sorry, Dr. Crane." Anything else she could have said was lost in the repentant flood. She had hated lying to him and hated it even more that he had rewarded the lie so immediately. And now she hated it that he so readily forgave her, at loss only for an instant before offering a soothing hug.  
  
"Don't be silly, Daphne, I'm glad you don't have the flu." That made one of them. At least she knew that the misery that came with flu was only temporary. "Now, something is bothering you and I want you to tell me what it is."  
  
Daphne cried harder. Of course he wanted her to tell him, he probably thought he could help. Well, Dr. Crane, I know that you were in love with me for six bloody years but I was too stupid to see it. And now, guess what: just when you found someone else, I realise I may have feelings for you too. So, take your pick. Either you still love me which means you will have to suffer through your new marriage knowing that you could have had me, or, you have stopped loving me and now only have to deal with the guilt. Lovely choices the two, aren't they?  
  
Daphne struggled to pull herself together. Perhaps there was nothing either of them could do to make her feel better, but there was no reason for him to feel bad as well.  
  
Seeing that Daphne was not about to speak, Dr. Crane ventured into guessing.  
  
"Does it have to do with Donny?"  
  
"No," Daphne answered. At least that was mostly true. "Please Dr. Crane."  
  
"I'm sorry, I just want you to know that I'm here."  
  
No, he bloody wasn't. He was standing right there in front of her with a wedding ring hidden in his pocket. And that meant he was not there.  
  
But that was not his fault. She tried to smile at him.  
  
"Thanks," she said.  
  
"So," he asked in the easy tone of someone trying to change the subject. "How are your wedding plans coming along?"  
  
"Could we have one day of not talking about weddings?" Her unreasonable tone and reaction brought on that psychiatrist's look of 'ah-ha.' And something else. His right hand dropped from her arm.  
  
"Yes of course." Dr. Crane's hands were fidgeting behind his back. "In fact, I welcome that suggestion." He brought his hands back to the front, slipping the right hand into his pocket. He must have forgotten he already had keys in there because he hurriedly coughed as if to cover up the clinking sound of metal falling on metal. Daphne glanced down. Sure enough, his left hand was now ringless.  
  
Preventing herself from bursting into tears was getting no easier with practice. Although she could not face up to the idea that she had lost him, it pained Daphne that he was keeping this secret from her. Perhaps it only meant that at least to him she did fit into the category of family and friends.  
  
"It's nothing," she said as soon as she could. Both of them knew that was a lie, but it was the kind of lie that said she did not want to talk about it.  
  
Dr. Crane nodded. He had been in such a hurry earlier, but now he showed no interest in leaving. Part of her wished he would go so that she could stop lying and stop pretending. But that was a very, very small part.  
  
"So, you are off to the cabin," Daphne tried to adopt his conversational tone.  
  
"Er. yes," Dr. Crane said as if he were no longer sure. Silence fell again as if such information deserved long pondering.  
  
"It must be great to get away," Daphne had not meant to say the words out loud, nor to say them so wistfully.  
  
"It's beautiful this time of year."  
  
"I remember." He had invited her up last February but she had bumped into Donny and left with him soon after. She gazed up at him. "Very beautiful."  
  
"Very beautiful," Dr. Crane agreed, gazing back. "Very quiet and very far from everything. Would you like to come with me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The gazes turned into stares. Daphne had not had the time to recover from the shock of his invitation before the new shock of her answer. Dr. Crane looked similarly stunned by what had just happened. What could she possibly have been thinking? It probably had not even been a serious invitation. Better set things right.  
  
"Can you wait a few minutes while I pack?" was the last thing she expected herself to say. But she said it and fled to her room without giving him a chance to answer. She found that she was past caring whether or not she was putting him in an awkward position; If she was so determined not to think, she might as well not think about something that had felt right for a change.  
  
In her room she swept a couple of things into her overnight bag and was back in the living room in less than a minute. She did not want to give him a single chance to change his mind. She did not fancy giving herself that chance either. The first thing that had felt right and honest in months.  
  
"Ready," she said, trying to sound as cheerfully normal as possible. Dr. Crane still had exactly the same expression she had left him with. He must think her insane.  
  
"Daphne." Oh no, he was wearing the same expression he had been wearing on the balcony that night, when she was so sure he would be saying she wanted to hear but ended up saying something different. "You can't possibly go." Daphne's shoulders sagged under the weight of her bag and she let it thud to the floor. ".without your coat. It will be freezing up there."  
  
Daphne looked up, barely daring to hope. He was already across the room, taking her coat off the hook. Daphne closed her eyes as he came close.  
  
"Allow me," he said and for once it was not just a memory but a new reality where she felt a the light touch on her shoulders, then the comforting weight of a coat, placed there tenderly by someone who still cared enough to keep her warm.  
  
Daphne turned to look at him. She herself had recited that old cliché to countless friends: 'When you are in love, you will know.' It had always worked for her in the past but what she felt now was something she had never felt before. Except she had. She had started feeling it years ago and if the feeling had not flowered it had gathered root, moving deeper and deeper within coiling around every cell in her body.  
  
Daphne looked at him looking back at her as in a trance. For months now -- ever since that night on the balcony, or perhaps earlier but more timidly -- the feeling she had kept small and tied like a bonsai strained to burst through the surface, climbing to the light and towards the one person who could nourish it to size. She felt its needles, pushing out from within her skin, dying to break loose and entwine itself around him.  
  
Without breaking eye contact Dr. Crane bent over and picked up her bag.  
  
"Well, then," he said softly. "I think we both deserve get away from it all."  
  
He might have been the one to say the fatal words but it was Daphne who slipped her hand around his as they walked out together. The surface had been broken. And she was in love. 


	2. Away from it all part 2

For Marissa, of course. And for Misti for her excellent description of a cabin I've never seen and for Erin who always makes really good points about the characters and lets me put them in my stories.  
  
Away From It All (part 2)  
  
By Amy (amydekanter@yahoo.com)  
  
  
  
They did not speak on the drive up, but as they sat side by side, something crackled between them like static. Like guilt.  
  
No, he must not project. If he had any reason to feel guilty - and he did not, mind you; he loved his Mel - Daphne had none.  
  
Yet there was that tension, that complete awareness of her and the unsettling feeling that her attention was just as keenly and uneasily focused on him. Neither of them acknowledged it, out loud or otherwise, they just sat there, him driving, her being driven. If he had been a clinical observer he might have interpreted their behaviour as two people who had silently agreed to an affair.  
  
Mel, he reminded himself. Mel. It would do him well to remember that Daphne was neither interested nor free. And that he was even less . free than she was. Mel. Donny. Mel. Donny.  
  
This would not do. They were about to spend a weekend together and would have to speak to one another sooner or later. Niles decided it was up to him to break the ice. Unfortunately that attempt resulted in something along the lines of:  
  
"So, did you remember to bring your thyroid pills?"  
  
Yes, that vaporised the ice, all right. If it had not meant that he would have had to take Daphne with him Niles would have driven off the nearest cliff and have done with his stupidity once and for all. He threw a quick apologetic glance in Daphne's direction and was horrified to see that she had undergone a sudden and violent colour change, suggesting that for once his perpetually-clueless goddess was on his same sexual wavelength.  
  
As if in agreement, they both swiftly lowered their windows to the icy and neutralising mountain air. Eventually the cold did seep most of the red out of Daphne's face, but Niles found that no temperature in the world was low enough to douse his over-heated imagination. In the end he admitted defeat and put the window back up only to prevent his frozen fingers from coming off on the steering wheel.  
  
In Frasier's absence, Niles was forced to ask himself the obvious question: What the hell was wrong with him? The one sentence he had said since they left the apartment and it had to remind them both of the night something had nearly happened between Daphne and himself. A night he would relive a million times, each with a different, happier ending, but a night Daphne saw only as a close call to a terrible mistake. Either way, it was a reference to something way out of the comfort zone for both of them and the reasons he had blurted it out could be a Freudian's Disney World.  
  
Needless to say, both of them remained content to let the ice re-form and to leave it un-chipped. How in the world were they going to survive the rest of the weekend? How would he?  
  
Driven to panic when Mel had told him she was leaving the state for a week, Niles had decided to hide out at the cabin. This trip was meant to keep his resolve intact, not to shake it. He could not believe he had asked Daphne to join him.  
  
He could not believe she had accepted.  
  
After years of finding excuses to be with Daphne, of saying everything except what he wanted to, a strange impulse was rewarded them with two whole days together. Alone. When it was too late.  
  
Mel was away and Niles knew at a deep level that it was too soon for him to see Daphne and certainly it was too early for him to spend any kind of time alone with her. It was too risky. How could he forgive himself if his ridiculous infatuation led him to do or say something that would irreparably damage the future he and Mel had agreed to only yesterday?  
  
Niles tried to summon up the courage, the nobility, to turn back. To tell Daphne what he had tried to tell her earlier in Frasier's apartment: that they could not do this. He could not do this. But every time he came close to opening his mouth he remembered how disappointed, how broken, she had looked when he had started the sentence. He had never been able to see Daphne hurt and watching her crumble like that nearly killed him. He repaired the damage at once, covering as if he had always meant to bring her along and was rewarded by hesitant hope that crept back into her eyes. He had had no idea this trip meant so much to her. How could he turn her away?  
  
How could he not, Niles swung brutally back to the other extreme. There was Mel to think about. And Donny. Mel. Donny. Mel. Daphne. Daphne.  
  
This could hurt Daphne.  
  
Only if he let it, he reminded himself. He was the only one who had a problem with this. Donny would never see him as a threat, any more than Mel would ever see Daphne as a threat. Nor should she, Niles reminded himself. He belonged to Mel. And Daphne belonged to Donny.  
  
God, he still could not say that, even to himself, without the soul- piercing pain. Daphne belonged to Donny. She was gone. And sitting next to him, close enough to touch. Dear god, give him strength. He thought he was past this. Not all the way, but surely his time with Mel had made some sort of an impact, provided some sort of armour against this terrible agony.  
  
"Are you all right, Dr. Crane?" Her sweet voice, her worried eyes. He was breathing hard. He cracked the window a little.  
  
"Fine," he said. "Hungry?"  
  
They stopped for a bite to eat and for Niles to splash cold water across his face. They sat across from each other, studiously not making eye contact but still restlessly conscious of one another. For nearly twenty minutes food was prodded and rearranged on their plates but remained unconsumed until Daphne, to Niles' undying gratitude, was the first to say she was not very hungry and suggested they be back on their way.  
  
And so they were.  
  
When at last they reached the cabin, they hesitated at the door. Niles was glad that he was carrying all his things; it gave him an excuse for huffing like a locomotive. His physiology was in uproar and he tried hard to pretend it was only because he was doing the wrong thing by Mel though naturally he knew it was much more than that.  
  
Daphne seemed freshly dazed and nervous as well, standing next to him, looking into the cabin as if crossing the threshold would signify some point of no return; a risk. A mistake. Of course he was projecting again. This moment, which he had wished for since he had first learned to love, was no more than a weekend escape for her.  
  
And it should be no more than that for him, things being what they were. His divorce from Maris did not mean he had lost belief in the sanctity of marriage. Yesterday he and Mel had exchanged promises. Those promises did not become void merely because another woman made his heart race. A woman who had never shown the slightest interest in him and who, he might add, was engaged herself.  
  
The cabin door yawned open. They should turn back. It was the only right and proper thing to do. Resolutely, Niles squared his shoulders and walked straight. into the cabin. Damn.  
  
"Here we are," his id said brightly, his Id as usual having taken control away from his Superego. Classic Crane. His luggage dropped to the floor with a final and defiant thud.  
  
Daphne gave a small smile and followed, stepping inside just as he switched on the light, as if her presence could bring a room to life just as it had done to him.  
  
Niles slipped his hand into his pocket and momentarily clasped the ring. Give me strength, he prayed to it. To do what was right by Mel, by Donnie, by Daphne. perhaps by everyone but himself.  
  
The cold, smooth gold of the wedding band did make him feel better. There was love in that ring. Love that would get them through the weekend safely if he could just remember to invoke its powers often.  
  
He led her upstairs and showed her to her room. The view was incomparable from that window and Daphne apparently felt its pull, letting out a small gasp and moving towards it hypnotically.  
  
Niles swallowed a gasp himself and forced himself to remain where he was. If there had ever been anything more beautiful than that view it had to be Daphne standing in front of it. If only he could commission an oil painting of this moment, the stunning scenery in the background, the lovely woman in the foreground, staring out with sad nostalgia, making the observer yearn to know what was in her heart. Niles clasped the ring again.  
  
"I'll leave you to unpack," he said quietly.  
  
The woman in the picture turned to look at him, her eyes soft. Burnt sienna, he thought. Warmed with red ochre and deepened with Prussian blue.  
  
"Thank you," she said, her voice low and heartfelt.  
  
She turned back to the window as Niles closed the door.  
  
"Thank you," she said again, even as she heard the door close behind her. She had realised what a mistake it had been to come up here early in the drive. As soon as it had started to sink in that she was in love with a married man and about to spend a weekend alone with him.  
  
Yet she could not ask him to drive her back. Not because of the inconvenience it would cause him, not even because he would think her insane. but because she wanted this mistake as much as she had wanted anything in her life.  
  
The drive here had been agony, but it was an addictive agony. The guilt, the knowledge that she could never have him were only the nicotine -- the side effects -- of a wonderful rush. Daphne had discovered love. She could not have it, but she had found it. She knew now what it was like to be sure.  
  
She could blame and punish herself for having missed out on something that had been staring her in the face for six years, but she would not punish him. She would only love him, inside, for this weekend. She had made that decision in the car as well. If she was to give herself this gift, she would force herself not to think about how this weekend would end except to remind herself that she could not have him. Not beyond two precious days.  
  
Nor would she burden him with her feelings. If she truly loved him she could do this, and a right better job than she had done so far. He had been so uncomfortable on the ride up; it usually was she who did most of the talking, usually she who would not shut up. It would do her well to remember that. He had come up here to relax and the last thing she wanted was to ruin it for him with a sulky companion.  
  
Daphne allowed herself to be held by the magnificent view: layers of mountains sparkling with cold, distantly framing the sun-shimmer lake; an entire world of glittering magic.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered once more to the man who had given her this view as he had given her the music box, never knowing that he had provided a channel for her to open her heart, to focus her love for him onto something almost as beautiful but far more available.  
  
During the trip up here she had had to sit, talk and walk carefully to make certain that not a drop of the love that filled her spilled over. It was part of the nicotine to have to keep it bound and secret, but she would gladly suffer for what she felt. Now her heart poured its contents forth over the lake and mountains, into the vast horizon, slowly bringing the dangerous levels within to something safer, something easier to control.  
  
Daphne pulled away from the window and began to unpack.  
  
It was a good thing she had not brought much with her; the right side of the dresser was filled with clothes. After six years, Daphne had no trouble recognising them, or at least recognising the taste of the person to whom they belonged. She smiled. Naturally it was an excessive amount of clothing for someone who only came up here only a few days a year. And this was just the guest room; probably overflow from whatever did not fit in the master bedroom closet.  
  
Daphne ran her hand lightly over a pile of sweaters. When she had come the last time she only stayed long enough to talk Donny into coming away with her to the bed and breakfast down the road. Dr. Crane had been here too, with Roz; something about the two of them dating. She could barely remember much of anything, having then made the momentous decision to take her relationship with Donny to the next level. Now she wondered what exactly had happened between Dr. Crane and Roz. If his brother was right, Dr. Niles Crane may have still been in love with Daphne then, but perhaps it had been the beginning of the end.  
  
She took the top sweater from the pile, soft navy wool, and held it to her face. How could someone who had been in love with her so long marry so soon and so easily?  
  
Because of Donny, of course. Men occasionally did give up once the person they loved got engaged to someone else. They were fickle that way.  
  
But when Donny had proposed Daphne had gone to the offices of Dr. Niles Crane and had practically begged him to support her decision not to marry Donny. Yet he had sided with his brother and father. Why, she wanted to ask him. Why?  
  
She knew then he was doing it because he cared for her. Now she knew it was because he had loved her and wanted her happy. He loved her enough to push her into Donny's arms just as years earlier he had loved her enough to push her into Joe's.  
  
If only he had loved her a little more selfishly.  
  
With effort Daphne put the sweater back and closed the drawer. She would not wear the sweater. Not now and not tonight when she went to bed. She was making up rules as she went along, but she was determined to stay on the right side of pathetic.  
  
Daphne again turned to the mountains. What if. What if she were to tell him how she felt? What if she were to prepare herself for the fact that he may have fallen out of love with her, just as she was forced to do now, but opened herself up to the possibility that he had not?  
  
For years he had been in love with her but something had prevented him from speaking. What if that something was still keeping him quiet? What if he still loved her? What if her silence was not protecting him but hurting them both?  
  
She would never know what made her kick off her shoes before going to him. It was almost as if she had known what she would see if he did not hear her coming.  
  
Dr. Crane was sat in a chair in front of the cold fireplace, his still- packed bags on the floor next to him. He did not see Daphne and from the intent expression on his face, may not have seen her even if she had come in all the way and stood directly in front of him.  
  
He was holding his wedding ring, turning it over and over in his fingers, staring at it as if searching for something on it or in it. He looked at the ring as she knew she was looking at him, with deep and unmasked love mixed with pain of wanting something he could not have.  
  
He was missing his wife.  
  
Dr. Crane brought the ring to his lips and kissed it, never noticing Daphne as she slipped back up the stairs and into her room. Her question had been answered. 


	3. away from it all part 3

  
  
Away From It All (part 3)  
  
By Amy (amydekanter@yahoo.com)  
  
  
  
Niles was worried about Daphne. Someone else - someone who was not a seasoned Daphne-observer - may not have noticed that she turned her face away a lot, trying to make the action seem casual. She also hid behind her hair and kept her eyes down until the slight red-rimmed swelling subsided. She had been crying again.  
  
It pained him that she was suffering but he did not intrude again. She was making such an effort to hide it from him, especially since she had emerged from her room after packing. Silent earlier, she now made a visible effort to be sociable, helping with dinner, bombarding him with questions, barely allowing him to answer one before asking another. It was a classic tactic often tried by his patients when they wanted to draw focus away from themselves, skirting topics that were the very reason they had come to see him in the first place.  
  
While it was his job as a psychiatrist to prod at his patients' walls, Daphne was not a patient and he felt it prudent to respect her boundaries. For the time being, at least.  
  
He answered her questions; all of them safe, most of them revolving around the cabin, the lake, the general geography and history of the land. By the time dinner was over she knew as much as he did about Shady Glen and Niles wondered how they would fill the rest of the weekend.  
  
Daphne, it turned out, was way ahead of him. After they washed up, she asked to look at his books. Niles settled on the couch with his own weekend read and studiously turned pages as he watched her.  
  
While normally he preferred that people not touch his treasured possessions - it gave his cleaners far too much work to do later - he loved to think of the intimacy of Daphne's fingerprints on anything that belonged to him.  
  
Sadly, it was not to be. Daphne walked about like a well-behaved child, seen but not heard, hands clasped before her, playing uneasily with her fingers as she had since they had met at the apartment earlier. Her mind seemed somewhere far away and yet not for she kept looking at him; sometimes a glance, sometimes for several seconds, not really acknowledging him but frowning as if trying to determine something.  
  
In his profession he was used to seeing people fret about his office while they came up with the courage to say what was on their minds. Perhaps she was trying to decide whether to trust him with whatever secret she carried.  
  
What could possibly be affecting her so much? Donny was the most reasonable explanation, for people are affected most by what and whom they most love.  
  
Which, incidentally, explained why he could not concentrate on his reading. Niles flipped another unread page. He still could not believe they were here. Together. Alone.  
  
Perhaps he never would fully believe it and it was perhaps better that he did not. As long as this remained a dream, Mel had no chance of becoming less than the reality she was and would be for the rest of their lives.  
  
So far nothing in his small library seemed to have caught Daphne's interest. Niles felt bad that he had never taken the time to invest in the kind of books he knew she liked. Once, when he had imagined he would bring Daphne here, he had stocked up on her non-perishables and bought CDs of romantic music she liked, but no books. Not that in his fantasies they spent much time reading, but all the same.  
  
It would have been so easy to do this small thing for her, considering that he no longer had to worry anyone would see him browsing through self-help sections. One could now order online the babblings of self-proclaimed gurus of happiness and have the books sent in plain, brown wrappings as shameful material had been home delivered for generations.  
  
Niles tried not to feel defensive as Daphne sighed over his collection of works by Middle-Eastern Poets. He had to concede that at least her self- help books were preferable to other reading material he had found strewn around his brother's house. The ones with bare-chested men and nearly-bare- chested women on the cover, reclining at impossible angles and panting at each other, eyes half closed and unfocused in a manner typical of drug addicts.  
  
Why in the name of god Daphne read those things was entirely beyond him. For one thing he had had yet to see a cover in which the heroine's beauty could even begin to measure up to Daphne's. For another, the heroes' thick arms and barrel chests spoke of a stage on the evolutionary ladder where opposable thumbs had just recently come into fashion.  
  
Maris used to read those romances as well and, in an effort to delve into the baffling psyches of two women he desperately wanted to understand, Niles had once taken it upon himself to try and read a few of them. He had emerged from the experiment more confused and depressed than before. Never mind that the books were victims of inexcusably flawed writing, research and logic, they also revealed an appalling shortage of male protagonists who were venerated members of the psychiatric profession. Oh, no. Preference was given instead to pirates or gypsies or soldiers of fortune, men who could not tell a fine wine from bathtub gin. Nary a Yale graduate among them.  
  
Indeed, if any male character showed the slightest bit of sensitivity towards the arts or good life, it was the man abandoned in favour of some grunting Neanderthal who had not even mastered the concept of buttons and therefore had to keep ripping off his ill-gotten girlfriend's clothing. The only bright side to Niles' reading experiment was that they encouraged him to start looking at Daphne's blouses in a brand new way, taking appreciative note of any that were potentially - and deliciously - rippable.  
  
Niles gave himself a mental wake-up punch. See? This kind of train of thought was the very reason he should not be anywhere in the vicinity of Daphne. Not without Mel's firm grip on his leash.  
  
True, tonight Daphne was wearing a safe green and yellow sweater of forbiddingly sturdy knit but still, this sort of thinking was bad. Very bad.  
  
"Oh, what's this?" Daphne spotted something on the top shelf. As she reached for it, her sweater raised enough to treat Niles to a sliver of smooth bare flesh along her waist. Around Daphne, nothing felt better than bad.  
  
Daphne stood on her tiptoes, stretching further thus defining the lines of her calves, her thighs, her. Niles took a quick swig of his wine. It was the same effect she had had on him for years, married man or not. How did she do it?  
  
"It's a puzzle," Daphne said.  
  
"Not really," he said, leaping to her defense. "Not considering you are so . oh, you mean. yes." She was holding a jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps he had had enough wine for the evening.  
  
"'His Last Term as Governor: A Crime Scene Mystery'." Daphne sat down next to him.  
  
"You get clues from the puzzle to solve the mystery," Niles explained. "I bought it for Dad last year to give him something to do while he was here if it got too cold for the outdoors."  
  
"Too cold?" Daphne snorted. "That old git will complain about his daily walk around the block if there is a single drop of rain but he'll sit on an ice-cube for eight hours as long as you put a fishing rod in his hands." Niles hid a smile. Daphne rarely spoke of his father without injecting some long-suffering comment about how difficult he was, but every Crane man knew she loved 'that old git' as much as any daughter ever loved her own father.  
  
"Super-sleuth," Daphne read.  
  
"I wanted to challenge him." Niles said.  
  
"You wanted him to sit down and shut up," Daphne grinned. "What do you have for your brother?"  
  
"'Orson Welles: the Road to Xanadu' by Simon Callow. Brilliant. Witty. Long. Very, very, very long."  
  
Daphne laughed and went back to examining the box.  
  
"The puzzle is only eight hundred pieces." She sounded disappointed.  
  
" I didn't want him to stay forever." Niles cursed his shortsightedness.  
  
"Well, it still looks like fun. Shall we?" she asked, pouring the box contents over the coffee table.  
  
No, said Niles' Superego, but of course his Id was already happily turning over puzzle pieces.  
  
And why not? Daphne might have inadvertently found a solution to satisfy everyone: The puzzle would allow them to be in the same room while creating an innocuous diversion, hopefully one that would take Daphne's mind off her troubles and Niles' mind off Daphne. At the same time, Niles could be in luscious proximity to his forbidden fruit, in a perfectly innocent setting, not forced to talk but able to if the need arose. Furthermore, as a former author of the highly acclaimed (both he and Frasier agreed they were exceptional) Crane Boy Mysteries, Niles knew a completed 800-piece puzzle would prove a satisfactory alibi for either of them if they were questioned by Mel, Donny or - more likely - by his brother.  
  
He picked up the puzzle's accompanying booklet. "'His Last Term as Governor'." he read. "'It was an early autumn morning at the Governor's mansion.'."  
  
As he read, he felt Daphne's explicit attention upon him once again. She stopped turning over puzzle pieces and lay back on the couch, listening and observing. Niles tried to concentrate on reading the mystery, rather than on her elongated body, sensuous even in that bulky green and yellow sweater. It took him several moments to realise he had finished the introduction but was still holding the booklet in front of his face. He had no recollection of what he had just read.  
  
"I love it when you read to me."  
  
No, Niles thought. No, you cannot say things like that to me. First of all, because it makes me doubt my hearing, second because it makes me doubt my sanity. Third, because I have tried so hard to believe I could never make you happy. It was the only way I was finally able to let you go.  
  
"Dr. Crane?" Now one hand was on his shoulder, the other on his knee. She was touching him. Another thing she was absolutely not allowed to do. "Dr. Crane!"  
  
You are not permitted to use the words "I," "love" and "you" so close together in one sentence. You are not allowed to take me back to those six tortured years of saying innocent things to me into which I read the meaning I longed for or of your taking my passionate words and actions and filtering them of any non-platonic elements.  
  
The third time she said his name he could barely hear her over the sound of his. oh. Niles panicked ever further as blood thundered through his veins, trying to cope with the over-supply of oxygen.  
  
Daphne was gone, then she was back again, holding a paper bag to his mouth. He had not used a paper bag in years, but it still worked its magic, even with Daphne there, closer than before, leaning into him, stroking his chest with slow, regular strokes, coaxing his breaths and heartbeat to follow its rhythm.  
  
"Feeling better?" Although her eyes were wide and perhaps even a little frightened, her voice was the calm, in-control voice of a health-care provider. Tipsy on carbon dioxide, Niles spent a couple of seconds contemplating how sexy that was.  
  
"Perhaps I'd better get you into bed," Daphne said. Had she not heard a word he was thinking? Niles inflated and deflated the bag a few more times.  
  
"I'm fine," he wheezed. He dared her to argue with him on the point of his fine-ness when she had been laying false claim to the very same thing since this morning.  
  
"That was the second time today," Daphne reminded him.  
  
She was right; he had had two anxiety attacks today, both brought on by nothing he could escape because he had invited it up to spend the weekend with him. Her hand left a glowing trail as it moved, like the tail of a comet.  
  
If only Mel were here. If only it were Mel instead of Daphne, here next to him, leaning in close, still gently and soothingly massaging his chest.  
  
If only he could make such a wish and mean it.  
  
With superhuman strength, Niles sat upright, and Daphne's hand was shrugged off to the safer region of his shoulder and arm. The action drew bitter resentment from his body but at least eased his conscience.  
  
"Why don't you like Mel?" he asked, the question coming from nowhere. Nobody in his family liked Mel but they had all tried to keep their opinions hidden. Unsuccessfully, it turned out. Only Daphne had been honest enough, or inebriated enough, to come right out and say it. It was strange, Niles remembered, how Daphne had been so resolute and passionate about her opinion that Mel was all wrong for him.  
  
"I." Daphne moved away from him looking both guilty and uncomfortable but, perhaps in the interest of his health, was inclined to make amends.  
  
"Tell me about her," she urged. "Perhaps I just don't know her well enough."  
  
Great. So the ball was back in his court. Again, not a bad thing. It would not hurt to remember what it was about Mel that had made him decide to marry her. Still, what did one say about Mel?  
  
"Well, she, er.is very motivated. She gets things done. She knows what she wants out of life. um. she." Niles knew he was frowning with effort, as well as quoting directly from a framed article Mel kept on her office wall. In his defense, it had always been hard to concentrate when Daphne turned the full force of her gaze onto him.  
  
"She is meticulous, exact.successful.very witty," he brightened at finding an adjective that actually sounded like a compliment. His mind was finally back in working order. "Why, just the other day she said something that was so remarkably clever." what was it? Niles tried to remember. It was so clever that he had actually told himself how lucky he was to have such a. clever companion. What was it?  
  
Daphne waited patiently. Why could he not remember? It was just the other day. at Frasier's. The day Daphne had first worn that stunning ivory sweater and teardrop earrings that accentuated her lovely neck. Mel was wearing something very nice that day too, he could not recall what, exactly, but it was that effect of taste combined with money that ennobled anyone seen in her company.  
  
What was it Mel had said? She had said it right after Daphne had told that delightful story about her second cousin Polly and Polly's new boyfriend, Charles, who had just got a new job in cattle husbandry. The clever thing Mel had said was unrelated -- and quite a while after that -- but definitely before Daphne had gone to stand out on the balcony, her hair blowing softly away from her face in a motion so exquisite it looked choreographed. "I forget," Niles admitted. "But she says things like that all the time."  
  
"As you know, she's very attractive," Niles ploughed on, knowing he had not yet done Mel justice. He could not let Daphne think that was all there was to her. "She's brilliant, of course. This seminar she's on, it's actually only for three days, but she's staying on to do some work on local money who want things done by a guest VIP plastic surgeon."  
  
"She's very good, isn't she?" Daphne said, helping him out.  
  
"Yes, one of the nation's best," Niles did not have to fake the pride in his voice. "Maris sang praises to her all the time, and Maris was not the easiest person to please." Who knew that better than he did? And now brilliant, witty, elegant Mel was his for life.  
  
He resumed the task of turning over jigsaw puzzle pieces. Actually, when he thought about it, he had been quite lucky with women. Luckier than Frasier, at any rate. First a million-heiress, then one of society's most in-demand plastic surgeons, both willing to marry down, both willing, or let's say insistent, on kneading him into their upper crust world.  
  
"Mel makes me feel I can achieve great things, that I can be someone in the world I've admired since I was a child. That I can have everything I ever wanted." Everything he had thought he wanted. "She's perfect."  
  
Made-to-order perfect. Just as Maris had been. Before he had realised that his list of perfect qualities should include someone whose scent made him feel alive, whose laughter bathed the world in starlight and whose smile bewitched his very soul. Perfection, he had learned, did not come in a flawless package of exquisitely refined taste. It occasionally came disguised in mall-bought clothes, teasing and laughing with Dad over a bucket of Farmer Jack's Chicken Chicken Chicken.  
  
"Does she make you happy?" Daphne echoed a question Frasier had asked him years ago, when Niles had absolutely not been happy. Ironically, the question that had followed then had been "Are you in love with Daphne?"  
  
The questions had been terrible both because of their answers and because of his inability, or unwillingness to do anything about them.  
  
Yet now, if he were to cut out this particular slice of time, separate from all else, this moment, sitting here so close to Daphne who still had not removed her hand from his arm, then not only could he answer:  
  
"Yes, I'm happy. As happy as I've ever been in my life," he could also say, with total honesty, although the question had been asked six years ago: "I am in love."  
  
Despite his eternal sadness at not being able to have Daphne, Niles smiled at her. He had no idea how he had come to adore this divine creature so much but, even under these fragile and temporary circumstances, acknowledging it still felt better than denying it.  
  
Daphne finally removed her hand, straightening up as she spoke.  
  
"I hope your happiness will last forever," she said, so intensely it seemed to be causing her pain. Niles loved her all the more. It would not last forever. It might not even last as long as tomorrow, but it was present now. She need not know who it was who had introduced him to pure joy in mere existence; he just wanted her to be happy for him. He just wanted her to be happy.  
  
A single puzzle piece remained unturned. Niles reached for it at the same time Daphne did.  
  
Their fingers touched. There was no static electricity, yet.  
  
"Did you feel that?" Daphne asked. Niles nodded.  
  
"We made a spark." More than a spark. Her live wire touch had triggered a surge of light throughout his entire being.  
  
"We made a spark," Daphne whispered. Their fingers were still on the puzzle piece. Still touching. Touching more, in fact, and more until the touching became holding.  
  
Slowly they looked up at each other.  
  
Oh my god, he was going to kiss her. He knew it. The world and everyone in it be damned, he was going to kiss Daphne. From the look in her wide eyes, he would have guessed she knew it too except for one thing: She did not move away.  
  
And even as the alarms in his head were silenced either by his determination or by the two billion volts that had just passed through them, a shrill sound broke the silence in which only he and Daphne existed.  
  
It was déjà vu all over again.  
  
Daphne had pulled away and was on her feet. "Time for my pills," she said, backing away towards the stairs. "Excuse me, Dr. Crane."  
  
All over again.  
  
He took a couple of steps after her as she fled, then stopped. Why even bother? Over the years he had gambled his heart to shreds, losing every single time.  
  
He had lost even when the odds where in his favour, as now they most certainly were not. Daphne was happy. Donny was happy. Mel was happy. Niles. had Mel. Daphne and Donny had sealed their futures together as much as he and Mel had. It's over, he told himself. It was worse than pathetic that he still had to remind himself of that now.  
  
Niles was tired of the cosmos having a joke at his expense. When Daphne came out of her room they would proceed with the puzzle. He would concentrate fully on the task at hand and get the blasted mystery solved. In fact, he should take advantage of this moment to - silently - re-read the leaflet and find out exactly who it was who had gotten himself murdered, under which circumstances, who the suspects were, etc.  
  
Niles felt better as he picked up the leaflet, a man with a harmless, uncomplicated agenda. This super-sleuth puzzle would keep his mind occupied for the rest of the weekend, not allowing it to waver even for a second in Daphne's direction. 'His Last Term as Governor: A Crime Scene Mystery,' he read. 'It was an early autumn morning at the .'  
  
Daphne would need water for her pills. Niles dropped the leaflet and hurried to the kitchen to get her a glass. He took it upstairs and was about to knock on her door when he heard a sound that froze him. It was the sound of muffled sobs.  
  
Niles' own eyes burned with tears. Her pain on top of his crumbled through the last dam of his defenses and in a minute he would be crying like a baby. He opened the hand that was still poised to knock and touched the door gently with his fingertips. Tell me, for god's sake, he pleaded desperately. Tell me what's wrong. Please, talk to me.  
  
Obviously his beautiful psychic's mind had no room for him. The crying continued painfully sad and lonely and the door remained closed to someone who had spent all evening thinking only of himself.  
  
The hardest things Niles had ever had to do in his life all seemed to involve around Daphne, and this was no exception. Kissing his fingers and touching the door once more, he moved away and back down the hall, still carrying the glass of water and with fresh wounds to a heart that never learned. 


	4. Away from it all part 4

To Merlin Missy, my long-lost lil' sis and one of the most talented fanfic writers out there.  
  
Away from it all (part 4)  
  
By Amy  
  
Daphne was curled up in the armchair near her window, her legs tucked under her, her body kept warm - inside and out - by Dr. Crane's navy blue sweater. She had succumbed.   
  
Dr. Niles Crane. A few months ago she could not have imagined feeling so differently about someone she had known so long. It was as ridiculous as the thought that she might fall in love with Mr. Crane. Or Roz. Or Eddie, for that matter.  
  
Daphne ran her fingers lightly over the sweater. Ridiculous or not, somehow this man had taken possession of her heart. No, not taken, for he had never asked. She had given it to him then, invited him in and placed him somewhere none other had occupied in her entire life.   
  
Dr. Niles Crane. Mr. Crane's thoughtful second son. Dr. Frasier Crane's brother. Donny's client. Mel's husband.   
  
Daphne shuddered from the heart outward. Mel's husband.   
  
Sooner or later Daphne would have to face up to what had happened last night. To what she had almost done.  
  
When had it all gone so horribly wrong? A jigsaw puzzle, for heaven's sake, nothing could be more innocent. The two of them, sitting side by side, as easy with one another as they had been before all this mess started; before Mel, before Donny and way before idiotic doubts got in the way and spoiled everything. Just two friends doing a jigsaw puzzle. It was so ordinary yet felt so ridiculously wonderful that that alone should have set off sirens. That she could feel so much just being near him, watching those slender pianist fingers deftly turn over puzzle pieces, that she was fully content to listen to him as he read the story or whatever it was, his voice both faraway and near, emitting with perfect diction from lips which, like the rest of his features, seemed drawn by a sharpened pencil.  
  
That had been her first impression when they were introduced so many years ago: sketchy lines and smudgy shadows, especially in contrast to his larger, broader, fuller teddy bear of a brother. Although the two Dr. Cranes resembled each other in looks as well as manner, Frasier demanded deference from the space he occupied, while Niles carved through it. Nothing bearish (or overbearish) about Dr. Niles Crane. Nothing soft either, except for his eyes. Except for his voice. His touch.  
  
He had kissed her a few times - once on the mouth -- always in fun or friendship, and his lips had been unexpectedly lovely. She had apparently not noticed a lot of things over the years, but she had noticed that. She also noticed that his arms when he hugged her provided more comfort and strength than seemed possible from someone so slenderly compact.  
  
The sweater had fallen from her shoulder and, only now realizing it, Daphne pulled it back on. She should not be thinking about his arms or his lips or any other part of him. Although she was not superstitious by nature, it was getting harder to believe that these feelings she knew were so wrong did not invite disastrous consequences. Just last night, she had been doing nothing but quietly and secretly thinking how much she loved him when suddenly, swift as a lightning bolt for the wicked, Dr. Crane was fighting for breath. Thou shalt not covet.  
  
To see him struggle for breath, his gaze glassy and terrified, was like ice water under her skin. Even after the scare had passed, Daphne's hand remained on his chest, anxious and needy of his breath. His heartbeat. Perhaps she was being punished but she could not let go.  
  
He was all right, and that was all that mattered. It made it bearable when the first thing he wanted to do was talk about his wife. It stood to reason, of course; when one is in a life-threatening situation, one always thinks of one's loved ones.  
  
"Why don't you like Mel?" he had gasped, piling onto Daphne's Everestian mountain of guilt.  
  
Now, there were admittedly countless reasons to dislike Mel. Ask anyone. Anyone but her new husband. The pre-been-in-love-with-you-for-six-years bombshell Daphne may have reminded him that he had already asked once before and that she (granted, with several bloody marys at the helm) had given him a bluntly honest and utterly unappreciated answer.  
  
Not that she would have repeated her reasons for disliking Mel, even if he had not just taken a stroll by death's door. A dozen good reasons could be negated by one bad one: Daphne loved him and Mel had him. That, Daphne knew, was just not a fair reason. So it served Daphne right to have to sit there, listening to the man she loved list all things wonderful about his wife. The list was typical of a Crane man; qualities one would note on some bloody certificate of pedigree. As he put it, Mel was perfect, the icon of a list of things of which not one had ever been said of Daphne.  
  
As she listened, another death. Then another zombie-like revival, going through the motions of a continued life knowing that many more could come like this one, at any time, just like real death but without the peace of an end. But she loved him, so she asked the question to which there could only be a hurtful answer.  
  
"Are you happy?" she asked.  
  
"I am happier than I've ever been; I am in love," was the answer.  
  
"I hope your happiness will last forever," she had said while his unspoken words burned like acid. "I'm happier than I've ever been".without you. "I am in love".with someone else.   
  
Then their hands touched and they make a spark. Simple. Real. Astounding. A bright flash of light that wiped everything clean, bleaching out all the confusion, guilt and pain. Temporarily blind, Daphne blinked back stars and through the stars saw him looking back at her with such tenderness that her body floated into the pull of his gaze, to those morning sky eyes closing slowly as she moved towards them. In the light that surrounded them, it seemed so inevitable, but then.  
  
Lightning. The alarm on her watch shattered that dream like a bullet through crystal, then tore into her chest, pain following the realisation - crueler than ever in its repetitiveness - that this was all an illusion. That she was too late for anything, except another death.  
  
The one small mercy shown her was that the alarm gave her a means of escape. She had a vague memory now of stumbling back to her room, fleeing from what - from whom - she could not run to.   
  
She used water from her faucet to down her pills and to try unsuccessfully to wash off tears faster than she produced them. She got as far as undressing but no further as she made her way onto the bed, holding a pillow to her face to dampen the creaks and wails of her aching heart. Daphne muffled her sobs and allowed grief to run its course, wear her out and, ultimately, sweep her up in its arms and cradle her to sleep. She woke hours later, shivering and with salt burns on her cheeks. She pulled on his sweater -- her dull brain somehow knowing it would bring her comfort -- and sat in the chair to wait for morning.  
  
Daphne pulled the sweater more tightly around her but even then she could barely get her shivering under control. Morning had finally come, creeping over her marvelous view. Black outlines were washed over with grey, then with muted colours. Then the first real splash of light, of glaring yellow gold poured onto the highest treetops, dripping its way down the mountains like lava towards the lake. A soft wimper escaped, hollow and lonely in the dark room. It was morning. And she was so scared.  
  
It was those deaths. She was not afraid of losing him; she had already done that. It was the deaths that she invited upon herself that had her dry-throated and trembling.  
  
Over the years Daphne had actually listened quite a lot to the Dr. Frasier Crane Show and even learned one or two things from it. Piping up among her strident inner voices this morning had been echoes of callers who would understand her situation perfectly: A man afraid of heights because at towering altitudes he felt his body wanting to lean forward into the void below; a woman who would not drive over bridges because every time she did her arms would tense at the steering wheel, as if poised to jerk it suddenly and violently into the railing; another woman who had a phobia of her own baby because she had a recurring image of her fingers relaxing their hold on her child, letting him slip from her grasp.  
  
Like Daphne, they were all terrified of their own unstable impulses, hypnotised by recurring visions of themselves doing things so horrible that it made them doubt their worth as human beings. Daphne did not trust herself anymore than those callers did. She had almost kissed a married man last night.   
  
He trusted her. His eyes had been so deep last night, deep enough to hold her and make her feel loved. He was the better person of the two, most definitely the better friend, and she had almost done something that could have changed that tender look in his eyes forever.  
  
Daphne stared out of the window with tired, blistered eyes. Even in danger of losing her self-worth as a decent human being, here she sat in the blue sweater, permitting herself the intimacy of something he had once worn closer to his skin than she would ever get. She would not try and excuse herself for that. Or for the involuntary burst of anticipation she felt when she heard sounds from the kitchen indicating that Dr. Crane was awake. She let it glow within her for a moment before she doused it out. She could only fight the large battles.  
  
Daphne's cold, stiff legs whined pitifully as she stood up. She stretched to gather both warmth and courage to behave like a proper guest and make her way down to the kitchen to see if her host needed a hand with breakfast. As for being a danger to herself, well, she could drive off that bridge when she came to it.   
  
Taking a deep breath, Daphne swung the door open and had not gone more than a few steps when she did an about turn and sprinted back into her room. She had just walked out into the hallway wearing Dr. Crane's blue sweater and nothing else. Well done, Daphne thought grimly. Bloody good thing she had not been holding a baby.   
  
Showered and dressed, Daphne came downstairs just as Dr. Crane surfaced from the kitchen with a tray of cream, sugar, jams and jellies. He slowed as he saw her, or perhaps just seemed to.  
  
"Good morning." his voice was slightly out of breath and almost a whisper. Had he had another attack during the night? Oh no, she should have never left him alone.  
  
"Good morning, Dr. Crane," Daphne said, wanting to ask, to apologise, to forget the exact moment last night when her hand on his chest stopped being for his benefit and started being for hers.  
  
"I'll just set this out," he said, disappearing into the breakfast room. Daphne's knees felt a little weak. Glancing around the room for a distraction, she found one as her eyes landed on the coffee table where puzzle pieces had been connected and linked.   
  
"You've been busy," she said as he reappeared.  
  
"I hope you don't mind," he said. "I had trouble sleeping."   
  
Quite a bit of trouble, by the looks of it. All four sides were completed and creeping inwards. In addition, he had put together three people and most of the dog. He must have been up all night.  
  
Daphne followed him back into the kitchen. He was mixing Swedish pancake batter.  
  
"Coffee?" he asked.  
  
"You're busy, I'll get it."   
  
While he poured the white batter into molds, Daphne prepared two cups of coffee, one with cream, one with milk and sugar for him. She handed him the cup and watched as he took a sip. He swallowed and stared at her over his cup for the longest time. Had she gotten it wrong? Impossible. It was the same way she had prepared it for him for years.  
  
"Perfect," he said quietly. The praise was a caress and she smiled at him.   
  
She had never dated a morning person before, but had always thought about how nice it would be, sharing first light with someone, making love in the morning, preparing breakfast together.   
  
He put the cup down and turned back to the pancakes. A bit of a domestic scene they had, right here. Only if it were a real scene she would have entered the kitchen and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind and reaching over his shoulder to kiss him good-morning. Their little exchanges would have been stitched together with terms of affection: "Coffee, love?" "Yes, thank you, darling." She would have grumbled playfully about men who get up so early, leaving her alone in bed when two was a much warmer number on a cold winter morning.  
  
"What?" Dr. Crane asked.  
  
"What?" Daphne repeated, lost.  
  
"You just sighed."  
  
"Did I? Oh. It's these pancakes. They're my favorite."   
  
"Oh. Well. Anticipation can be. sigh-worthy."  
  
"Why don't I put these out," Daphne said, reaching for pitchers of milk and orange juice. By the time she returned, the pancakes were ready and Dr. Crane was taking another sip of coffee.  
  
"Here," she took his cup back so that he be able to carry the steaming platter. Their fingers touched, momentarily knocking the breath out of her. Don't drop the baby, Daphne.   
  
She placed the cups at their places and filled their side bowls with strawberries. Dr. Crane served out the small pancakes, fanning them in a neat crescent shape. He was so artistic about everything, always making that special effort for things to look nice.   
  
She paused to admire the effect. White milk, orange juice, red strawberries in sparkling crystal, the scent of golden pancakes and rich coffee. Deeply satisfied, they smiled at each other as they sat down.  
  
"This is lovely," Daphne said, an understatement if ever there was.   
  
"Here you go," he said, nudging the apricot jelly towards her. It was dear of him to remember that she preferred jelly to syrup, and lucky that he happened to have her favorite type and brand on hand. Daphne's insides unclenched enough for her to take a bite and enjoy the warmth of the pancake and the sweetness of the jelly as they spread over her tongue.  
  
"Nice?"  
  
"Delicious."  
  
He looked so handsome in that red button-down shirt. Deep colours suited him. She loved the way he looked in red. Blue. Black. White. Green. Grey. Brown.  
  
"You must really like those pancakes."  
  
"What?" she asked again, certainly giving witty Mel a run for her money.  
  
"You just sighed again."  
  
"Oh, yes. I do. Pancakes. Lovely." Nice save, Daph, was what Mr. Crane would have said, his voice spread as thickly with sarcasm as her pancakes were with jelly. Surprisingly, Dr. Crane did not look fooled.  
  
"Daphne." He started stirring his half-empty cup of coffee. "Would you say we are friends?"   
  
"I. I guess so," she said, nervous because he was. She tried to make light: "I don't imagine most of your friends call you Dr. Crane."   
  
"My thoughts exactly. Daphne, it would mean a lot to me if you would call me Niles."   
  
Oh dear.  
  
"Oh, I don't know."   
  
"You've done it before."   
  
"Did I?" But those were times they had been pretending to be something different. Dating. Married.  
  
"Well, I wish you would think about it. So much is changing in both our lives; I don't see why this should not change as well. I have always considered you a friend and would like you to treat me as such."   
  
The jelly seemed to have cemented her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She shook her head.  
  
"Dr. Crane."   
  
"I guess there I have my answer," he said with a sad smile.   
  
"I'm sorry. It's just not a good time for me to change habits."   
  
"Of course," he said. "I understand." No, she could see that he did not.  
  
"But that does not mean we are not friends. Why would you think differently?"  
  
"I guess I. you don't seem yourself lately. I don't want to pry but I'm worried about you. I thought perhaps if you were more comfortable with me you would be able to talk about whatever it is. I want to help."  
  
"Oh." She wanted to hug him. And kiss him. And. and that was the trouble right there, wasn't it? That was what was what she could not say to anyone. Least of all to him. It did break her heart, though, to see him looking so sad. Over her.  
  
"Perhaps we can work our way up to that name change," she conceded. "I just need a little time."   
  
He brightened almost at once, making Daphne ache with love.  
  
"I would really like that. You know, we met right after you started working at Frasier's, so maybe all we need is to get to know each other in a different light."  
  
"You mean, start over as friends?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That sounds lovely. Slowly."  
  
"Slowly," he agreed, with a smile that made her insides quiver.   
  
After breakfast he refused to let her help with the washing up.   
  
"You go start pulling your weight with that puzzle," he said sternly.  
  
"You've gone and done all the easy bits," Daphne complained.  
  
"I left the corpse for you," he said. Daphne laughed and obediently went to work. She took advantage of her time alone in the living room to get caught up on the instruction booklet he had started reading yesterday. It was the background to the murder mystery complete with description of characters and possible motives. Her powers of concentration were not at their top shape and she had just finished absorbing it all when Dr. Crane came back out. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Daphne stopped herself from sighing again.  
  
"All done," he announced. "Um, do you mind if I get something from your room?"  
  
"No, of course not." Thank god she had returned its sweater to its drawer. "Go ahead."   
  
She studied the remaining puzzle pieces and slowly started fitting them together. As instructed, she started in on the corpse. That would have been Mr. Crane's advice anyway, to get on with the body and work her way outwards, looking for any clues nearby.  
  
Years of working with the elderly paid off, not to mention Dr. Crane's neat piles of loose puzzle pieces coordinated by colour and texture, placed loosely where he thought they should go. Daphne had closed quite a few gaps and had most of the body done by the time she heard him come back down the stairs.  
  
"There was a broken vase next to the body as well as a broken picture frame with a large piece of glass unaccounted for. Of course, they could be red herrings or." Daphne's voice dried as she looked up.  
  
Dr. Crane was wearing the sweater. The sweater.  
  
"Or. or not," she finished.  
  
"Could be," he said. Again, his voice sounded quieter than usual.  
  
"I hope we can get this done before we leave tonight."  
  
"Yes." He leaned from where he stood instead of coming closer. "Actually, I was thinking we could leave tomorrow morning."  
  
"Oh. Well, that would give us more time. to finish the puzzle, I mean."  
  
"Are you in any hurry to get back?"  
  
"Me? No. None."  
  
"Yes. Um. Great. I need to go down check something by the lake. I won't be long."  
  
"All right."  
  
He left as if in a hurry. Daphne might have felt relieved but the truth was that she had no idea what she should feel.  
  
Another 24 hours with Dr. Crane. Good lord.  
  
To be continued. 


	5. Away from it all part 5

Away from it all (part 5)  
  
To super-sweeties Mindy and Erin. And to Misti the Muse. Misti, you have disappeared. Hope you are doing okay.  
  
By Amy de Kanter  
  
Daphne had worn his sweater. Niles knew it even as he picked it up from the top of the pile, before he pulled it on. The sweater carried the scent of her hair, of her. Niles took long strides down the path towards the lake, wrapped in a cloud of Daphne.  
  
Niles' nose dissected smells the way his tongue analysed wine: Taking in the whole and allowing it to unravel, thread by pure and individual thread.  
  
Of all scents in the world, women carried the most complex and fascinating mixtures. It may well have been his first day of school when he first noticed that girls smelled different than boys, him and his brother Frasier excepted. Girls smelled cleaner. Prettier. As both he and his schoolmates matured, his nose kept tabs on girls as they turned to from family soap to scented ones, along with a mélange of powders, perfumes and lotions.  
  
Blindfolded in a crowded room, Niles could have found Maris under that shroud of expensive sheep placenta creams and the hypoallergenic eau de toilette concocted especially for her by the people at Chanel. The scent hung off his ex-wife, as heavy as her moods, and Dad used to say it was the only thing preventing her from attaining zero gravity.  
  
Mel was way at the other extreme. She smelled. well, mostly she smelled of nothing. Only the faintest hint of tea-tree soap gel she used to neutralize the aroma of hospital. To his darling, tidy little Mel scent was clutter and better left stripped to its minimal, most hygenic form. Her only compromise was at social events, when she limbo-ed into a thin mist of Elizabeth Arden, catching a few molecules which for the duration of the evening would smell exactly the way they did right out of the bottle. Niles bowed his face close to the sweater. Daphne. Daphne's was the scent one drew in by the lungful, as varied and layered as a large family kitchen or flower garden if such kitchen or garden existed in heaven. She formed no permanent attachment to soaps, shampoos or fragrances and was carefree and joyous about trying new things, yet the result was always unmistakably Daphne; as if her skin and hair were the magic elements that turned the delightful into the angelic.  
  
Niles slipped a little on the path but not enough to lose his balance so he continued walking. The wedding band was on his finger. It had come on the second he left the cottage even as his mind was full of the way Daphne had looked in the kitchen, pouring coffee; the way she had looked in the breakfast room, smiling slightly with each bite. The way she looked in the living room, glancing up from the puzzle. His mind was always full of Daphne. It used to be merely pathetic, now it was unforgivable.  
  
The wedding band was on his finger. He knew where he was going and the ring had to come with him. It would not be coming back.  
  
Washing breakfast dishes he had congratulated himself on getting through the first part of the morning without a single uncomfortable incident. He had calmed himself last night by mathematically dividing the time ahead of them into manageable chunks and breakfast had concluded the ninth-sixteenth of the time they had left before setting back to Seattle.  
  
The puzzle had taken care of the first half of the time. During the night Niles had put together 456 pieces of the 800-piece puzzle. That was 57% of the puzzle completed, nearly three fifths. He had done all the edges which some people would claim were the easy part, but those people might fail to consider that the more pieces were put into place; the less loose pieces were left to contend with and the easier it was to find a match. By a series of mathematical equations Niles had figured that if it had taken him 7 hours, 18 minutes to complete that (he had slept a little, but looked at his watch during waking time and was confident he had it right nearly to the second), it would take another 2.4 hours to reach the 75% mark but then only slightly under an hour to finish it off. That would only leave 3 sixteenths of which at least two could be filled with lunch and packing. If worse came to worse he would simply make an excuse for them to leave a little earlier. All would be fine.  
  
His work and logic had been so robotic last night that he had forgotten to factor in things that would affect the consistency of his progress. Like sleepiness. Like morning. Like Daphne. By virtue of cause and effect his careful timing equations now amounted to - as Dad would say - diddly-squat since one whiff of his sweater had resulted in Niles suggesting they stay an additional day.  
  
Wearing the ring, wearing the sweater, Niles was torn apart buy guilt. Mel. He took another deep breath. Daphne.  
  
Thin sheets of ice grew in from the edges of the lake and cold wind barely ruffled the water. This truly was a beautiful place. Niles had only been down to this pier once before, which was once more than Maris who had an understandable phobia of slatted walkways. He remembered how overwhelmed he had been when he first came here, taking in yet another splendid item that had become his with a simple exchange of vows.  
  
At the time it had seemed more than worth it. Niles had loved Maris, the first woman he ever felt sorry for. The only woman who ever needed him. It was only, as he once said to Frasier, a delightful bonus that Maris happened to come richly accessorised with money, connections, mansions, antiques and a wine cellar the size of a small gymnasium. It would have taken a lifetime to earn a fraction of it, yet there he had it; the life of a lord by his mid-twenties.  
  
Now fifteen years - his youth - were gone leaving him with ego scars and a settlement worth millions. Was it still worth it? Fifteen years in exchange for Shady Glen, his luxury apartment at the Montana and a mind- boggling figure in his bank account. If Maris had turned down the heat on the hell she put him through during their divorce proceedings, even a little bit, he may have felt guilty about taking so much. He wondered whether Mel would like Shady Glen. She might love it. She might be the only Crane besides his father to venture into the boathouse. She did not seem the sea-faring type, but then again she might be. There were a lot of things Niles did not know about her. What was he thinking, tying the knot so early in the relationship?  
  
Don't play innocent with me, Frasier would say if he were here. Niles knew damn well what he was thinking and he may as well admit it: Mel was a rope - and yes, he was aware of the physical appropriateness of the metaphor - cast to a man drowning in the vast sea that was a life without Daphne. Niles took off the golden wedding band. No use putting it off any longer, he knew what he had to do. It was only right. Mel was not Daphne but that did not mean she deserved to be anyone's second best.  
  
He envisioned himself flinging the ring far, the glint of reflected sunlight as it soared through the air, the small, dull splash just only disturbing the surface, creating a few ripples, and then it would be over. It was exactly what he had done with his last wedding band, casting it irretrievably away, symbolically ending another chapter in his farcical life.  
  
He held the ring out. As it glittered, he caught a single word in the inscription. Love.  
  
Love.  
  
"Let's get married," he had told Mel, just 48 hours ago. She had reacted to the semi-proposal as she reacted to every decision or suggestion she had ever agreed to; with the smile of a proud mentor, whose star pupil had performed as expected.  
  
"Darling, what a wonderful idea," she had said, pulling him into bed - a star pupil's reward. Also the place where he found out why she had been so unsurprised.  
  
"We are of one brilliant mind, Niles," she had said, explaining that she had not only already spoken to Donny, but had read over the first draft of their prenuptial agreement. They resumed their lovemaking before Niles had time to react, so it was only much, much later that he could really think about, and appreciate, how lucky he was to have someone so clever and decisive in his life. He would need someone like that. Without Daphne he would be lost.  
  
Why had Daphne worn his sweater? And when? Yesterday afternoon when they first arrived? Maybe last night or this morning. Was her room cold? He should have shown her where he kept the extra blankets but could not chide himself too harshly for his lack of consideration. Daphne was in his sweater, her scent mingling promiscuously with his in the fibres of this fine Scottish wool.  
  
His muscles, such as they were, tensed. Niles drew back his hand, aiming at the far end of the lake. He knew he was no thrower, and that the ring would hardly go ten feet if he was lucky. That would be enough. It would be gone and there would be no turning back.  
  
He thought of Daphne. He thought of Mel. He thought of the optimism and hope he had placed into the ring, as if it could give him the power to make happen what was impossible. He thought of Mel. He thought of Daphne. He thought of Mel. And slowly he lowered his arm. He could not do it. The dream of a happy marriage may be just an illusion but he had known that when he first touched the ring, when it first slipped onto his finger. And he had worn it anyway. The ring glistened. The sweater smelled of Daphne.  
  
Niles pulled off the sweater. Wind off the lake shot through his shirt in a volley of icy needles, as if it had been waiting for the chance to attack. He held out his hand. How about if he just opened his fist and let the ring drop into the water below? But his hand held tight and refused to open. Daphne was waiting for him at the cottage and he could not force himself to give a damn about anything else.  
  
Dear god, if he knew the truth, why was he so afraid of it?  
  
Because truth could mean a life alone.  
  
So how about another truth? The truth that he wanted to be married. During his entire marriage to Maris, even after he had met Daphne, even after his separation, Niles had loved having a wedding band on his finger. He belonged to someone. He had been chosen. That gold band was a badge to an exclusive club, one he had once felt was unlikely to admit him as a national sports team.  
  
But he had been admitted. Not one, but two women had agreed to marry him. You would think he would be more grateful.  
  
Niles finally opened his hand, palm upwards and stared at the ring. Then, Bilbo Baggins-like, slipped it back into his pocket. He would spend one more day with Daphne, then the rest of his life with Mel.  
  
One more day with Daphne. His skin was brittle with cold. Niles put the sweater back on, taking his time pulling it over his head so the scent of a dream could linger against his face, through his hair.  
  
He may well pretend that he had almost gone through with it, but now he wondered if he had ever come close. He glanced back at the still beauty of the unbroken lake, thinking about what he had almost done. He started back towards the cottage. The ring was coming back with him after all.  
  
"Mel," he said softly, wishing so much he could remember what she looked like. "Oh, Mel. I'm so sorry."  
  
The cottage was warm. Not just in the obvious sense for someone lame- brained enough to have taken off his sweater to the bitter air, but as in warm and welcoming. The smell of coffee with the undertones of breakfast lingered. While colours outside were crisp and stark, inside they had a soft-edged glow. Then, of course, there was Daphne who, as far as Niles was concerned, had always been the heartbeat that made Frasier's middling apartment a home, even for Niles. And here she was doing his cottage the same favour. The outdoors had tolerated him, but the indoors embraced him.  
  
"My god, you're blue!" Daphne grabbed him by the arm. "Come warm up by the fire while I get you a hot drink."  
  
Niles gratefully allowed himself to be led and seated. Daphne took up a wool blanket that had not been there before he left and wrapped it around his shoulders.  
  
"I lit it when you left without your jacket," Daphne said of the fire. "Silly sod, drink this while I get us some tea." Niles only became aware that his teeth were chattering when they clinked against the glass. Apricot brandy - loathsome stuff - poured down his throat warmed him immediately.  
  
"Thank you, Daphne," he finally said when she thrust a steaming mug into his hands. "I don't know what I was thinking."  
  
"Nor do I," she grumbled, taking the tone she often took with his father. Niles almost grinned; if he did not know better he would say she was enjoying this. Well, let her have her fun. Daphne loved taking care of people - even the silly sods in the Crane clan - and he was not about to complain.  
  
The tea was cinnamon, the steam spicy and revitalizing, and the heat of the cup spread down his hands and up his arms. Daphne hovered over him until his shaking stopped. Yet another perfect moment. He was happy. He was in love. He gazed blissfully up at Daphne who was still frowning her disapproval.  
  
"Er. what have you been up to?" he asked, conversationally.  
  
"Oh!" Daphne's face lit up suddenly in a burst of delight. No one forgave more quickly than Daphne. "You'll never guess. I think I've solved it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The mystery, just now before you opened the door. I think I've figured it out."  
  
"You know who did it?" She couldn't have. He had been gone less than an hour. "Who?"  
  
"Old Mrs. Ellerby," Daphne said triumphantly.  
  
"Surely not! Mrs. Ellerby is in her late sixties. The family only keeps her on because she's been with them for ages."  
  
"No, listen." He had finished his tea and, not seeming to think about it, Daphne took his empty mug and gave him hers, still nearly full. Obediently, Niles took a sip. Her cup. My god, was he ever in love. "It was supposed to look like a suicide, right? His sleeping pills have all been punched out and the packaging was left by the chair."  
  
"With you so far."  
  
"What we are supposed to think in the beginning is that that's how someone killed him, by popping him with his own pills. But look: here's one pill that stayed in the package. Blue and yellow, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Come." Her excitement was contagious. "Now look closely at the pebbles in the flower pot."  
  
Niles did, with the blanket still around his shoulders. The puzzle, while still fragmented, had progressed splendidly in his absence.  
  
"The pills!" He had put that pot together last night but had not noticed at the time.  
  
"Nine of them!" Daphne said. "Plus the one in the package, that's ten. Two are missing."  
  
"They could be somewhere else. Or it could be an old packet."  
  
"Look closely at the governor's fingernails."  
  
"It's a bit of paper stuck..."  
  
"Yes, stuck. Look again at the box of sleeping pills."  
  
"It matches the broken safety seal." Niles said. "So the governor took his usual two pills."  
  
"And was either asleep or groggy when Mrs. Ellerby came at him from behind and.  
  
"Hit him over the head with the flower vase?"  
  
"Strangled him."  
  
"What? She couldn't have. I'm not saying she's not the murderer, but you need quite a bit of strength to strangle a person." Niles had not always been able to tune out Dad's words of police wisdom.  
  
"No, listen..." as if he needed any prompting. "First of all, she may be sixty, but if you remember from the booklet, her so-called motive is that the governor makes all the servants work hard to earn their keep. Mrs. Ellerby trudges up and down stairs all day, mopping all the floors before six in the morning, changing the sheets every day and flipping his mattress twice a week."  
  
"He likes a neat house," Niles said defensively.  
  
"The point is, sixty or not, you need some muscle to lift a king-sized mattress. Ask me."  
  
"King-sized?" Niles asked before he remembered reading that activities on said mattress provided motive for his wife, son and daughter-in-law.  
  
"Second, take it from a health-care provider, anyone sitting in that kind of a chair would have a right difficult time getting out of it in a hurry."  
  
"Okay, so she's capable. But surely her motive is not that he made her do a spot of spring cleaning here and there?" Niles thought nervously of Frasier who also liked his mattress aired twice a week.  
  
"Well, that would be plenty of motive but don't worry, your brother is safe for a while longer," Daphne grinned, reading his mind. "I'll get to motive in a second, but I'll tell you now; it was not your brother who gave me the idea, it was your father."  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"Look." Daphne pointed at the governor's neck. "Strangulation."  
  
"I see it." There were red lines going around the governor's neck, partially hidden by his collar. "But."  
  
"No, look closer. See? You can just make out a faint imprint on the governor's neck, right under the strangulation marks. See the shape? It looks like a bone."  
  
"A bone?"  
  
"The murder weapon was Jessie's collar!"  
  
"And no one gets near Jessie except..."  
  
"Old Mrs. Ellerby!" they shouted together.  
  
"She loved that dog," Daphne reminded him.  
  
"And the Governor wanted to put Jessie to sleep." Daphne was right, if anything would drive Dad to murder would be if someone laid a finger on Eddie. "Daphne, you've solved it!"  
  
"I have, haven't I?" Daphne glowed.  
  
"Brilliant work, Holmes."  
  
He was sitting next to her on the couch, their shoulders touching. How -- and when --had that happened? It must have been sometime during her explanation. Caught up in the moment, he supposed. Daphne looked as if she too had taken that moment to entertain a sudden, awkward thought but then tossed it aside with a quick shake of her head.  
  
"Well," she smiled at him, almost naturally. "That time spent pouring over old police photos and watching cop shows with your father has certainly paid off."  
  
"Where were you thirty years ago?" he asked. "My brother and I could have used your collaboration on these stories we used to write together."  
  
"The Crane Boy Mysteries?"  
  
"Yes. Frasier told you about them?"  
  
"No, your father did."  
  
"Dad? But he never read them. He used to say crime solving is for cops, not for nosy little boys."  
  
"Well, your mother always loved them so he read them to her when she was in hospital. He got hooked, apparently. I know you think they're lost but he's always kept them. I've read a few. They're quite good."  
  
Niles did not know what to say. In one breath he had received the highest praise from the two people whose approval he craved more than anyone's. Where to bask first?  
  
Daphne was doing a bit of revelling on her own, gazing proudly at the still incomplete puzzle. She happy, better than she looked than she had looked all weekend and certainly better than she had looked yesterday at Frasier's apartment. Better, in fact, than he had seen her in months. Maybe bringing her up here had not been such a bad idea after all.  
  
"Daphne?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you think we should stay the week?"  
  
"You mean, here?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"The two of us?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
They stared at each other, once again ambushed by their own words. Then Daphne smiled at him and he smiled back. And that was that.  
  
[to be continued] 


	6. Away from it all part 6

The best of news at the worst of times  
  
Away from it all (part 6)  
  
To Erin, Sarah and Mindy for lighting a fire under my, er, typewriter. And to Marissa for starting up that debate on feedback. Yes, it works!  
  
It was decided that Dr. Crane would go back to Seattle that same day to fetch some things and to make arrangements for his patients. He refused Daphne's offer to go with him, rather forcefully, as a matter of fact, although he instantly looked sorry he had taken that tone. Daphne made up her own excuse to stay behind, not just to make him feel better but because she knew if they both went there was always the possibility that one or both would change their minds. She wanted this week.  
  
She walked him out to his car.  
  
"If you need anything, anything at all, just phone Karen and Sook Kwin down at the bed and breakfast," Dr. Crane said. "They cook, cater, deliver groceries and can reputedly repair anything from leaky faucets to cars to computers."  
  
"I will." They both chose to forget that she had already met the women when she stayed at First Robin last year with Donny. "Don't you worry about me, Dr. Crane. I'll be fine."  
  
"So, everything you need is in the bag next to your door?" He seemed to be angling again to find out why Daphne would have a suitcase ready in her bedroom. She was not about to tell him.  
  
"That's it. All packed."  
  
"All right then." Daphne smiled as he walked around his car, looking at the tyres, making a big show of checking the Mercedes for his trip. As if they had just met yesterday. For goodness sake, between his shaky hand-eye coordination and his utter hopelessness at anything mechanical or electronic, even adjusting his mirror was a drawn-out exercise of hit and miss.  
  
"Well, everything seems to be in order. I guess I'd better get going." He seemed reluctant to leave. She could hardly blame him; it was a long drive. They had a week ahead of them and the sooner he left the sooner he would be back, but there was an ache in her chest that just would not go away. As put his hand on the car door, the ache grew sharp.  
  
"Dr. Crane!"  
  
"Yes?" He turned.  
  
"Could you bring my jewelry box?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The music box. the one you gave me for Christmas?" God, she sounded a right fool. What would anyone need jewelry for, up here in the middle of nowhere? Or a music box for that matter. She was like a child wanting its fluffy toy.  
  
"Sure." He looked understandably mystified. "Where is it?"  
  
"Oh." Now she had to tell him. Daphne felt her face go bright red. "Next to my bed."  
  
"No problem." If he thought her off her rocker he was too polite to say so. He opened the door.  
  
"Dr. Crane."  
  
"Yes?" He stopped, halfway into the car.  
  
"Drive carefully," she said. He stared at her for the longest time, probably waiting for her next mad request. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to tell her he had changed his mind and that he preferred to spend the coming week in the company of sane people. God, she was an idiot.  
  
He walked over and kissed her on the cheek.  
  
"I will," he said gently. He got into the car and waved out the window as he drove off. Daphne stayed where she stood, too stunned to wave back.  
  
Paradoxically, it was the cold that finally thawed the shock enough for her to go back indoors. The day had warmed up a bit but it was still chilly and Dr. Crane had taken the blue sweater with him. If he was aware she had borrowed it he gave no indication, unless you counted his offhand invitation for her to help herself to anything in his closet if she needed a fresh change or something to keep her warm. She intended to take full advantage of that offer. It would hold her over until the music box arrived.  
  
The cottage seemed darker now that he was gone. It was a two hour drive each way to Seattle. He had to stop by the Montana for his things and by Elliott Bay Towers for hers. He had to call his patients. He promised to try and make it back before sunset but that was hours and hours and hours away.  
  
Daphne wandered into the kitchen to make herself some tea. He had all her favourites, which surprised her because had never known him to be much of a tea drinker. She chose Whittards Spice Imperial and carried her cup into the living room.  
  
It seemed forever since she had left Seattle but it was only yesterday morning that she had been prowling around the apartment, wondering how to fill time. 24 hours later and a hundred miles away she was doing exactly the same thing. Not what you would call spectacular progress.  
  
What could she do to keep herself busy? There was the puzzle, of course, but it barely seemed worth doing now that the mystery had been solved. There was no cleaning to be done; people who kept cottages by the lake phoned First Robin in advance to have everything spic and span by their arrival. Daphne would bet anything that the fresh strawberries this morning were a welcoming gift from Sook Kwin. Daphne considered giving them a call then quickly changed her mind when it occurred to her they would almost certainly ask about Donny. They had really liked him. Everyone really liked Donny, including Daphne. Daphne loved him.  
  
For god's sake, don't think about Donny, not now.  
  
She debated going for a walk, but no, best save that for later. If she went now she would not want to come back and face more hours ahead with nothing to do and one less option.  
  
She paced the corridor, going past his door three times and pretending not to notice that she paused in front of it each time. She had made her bed and knew he would have made his as well, but maybe there was something else she could tidy up for him. As everyone knew, going into a room to clean officially made it not snooping.  
  
Right. Daphne hurried back down the stairs into the living room, creating distance between herself and temptation.  
  
So, she was right where she started. Stop thinking about time. Stop thinking about him.  
  
The bookshelf? She should take another look. Last night it had been difficult to concentrate on anything with Dr. Crane right there, looking so smart and refined with that thick book balanced on his knee and a glass of wine in his hand. My god he had looked good. The puzzle had been a lifesaver.  
  
Daphne ruefully put the image out of her mind. Just thinking about him made her start tingling in the oddest of places. She started glancing through titles and to her surprise found that many of the books looked interesting. Apparently what the two Dr. Cranes considered light getaway reading was what normal people read when they were feeling ambitious. Daphne could do ambitious. She felt a rush of pride when her eyes landed on 'Perfume,' by Patrick Süskind. She had read that years ago and liked it. She would have to find a way of dropping that bit of information into a conversation this week. He would be pleased that they shared an interest; he always was. Not like his brother. That time she mentioned to Dr. Frasier Crane that she had liked a book he himself was currently enjoying her boss had barely been able to contain his horror. Later, he had -- under the ruse of discussing it with her -- gone to great lengths to imply that she might have read it but had not really understood it. Daphne grinned at the memory. Pretentious git.  
  
The bookshelves were stocked with the obligatory collection of classics, of course, though these were handsome leatherback volumes, rather than the cheap Penguin editions Daphne had read as a girl. Tolstoy, Victor Hugo, Goethe. Daphne steered clear of the Brontë sisters - she was a short distance away from hearing voices in the wind already.  
  
On a higher shelf she found the book her host had bought for his brother. She picked it up and leafed through. It was indeed enormous and the type was tiny. It would take her years to get through this. She replaced it.  
  
There were quite a number books by Simon Callow. Daphne had seen the actor in a few films and once on stage in London, but she had no idea he was also an author. Next to the monstrous Orson Wells biography there were a couple of paperbacks that looked manageable: 'Becoming an Actor' and .'Love is Where it Falls.' Heart beating stupidly, Daphne reached for the latter.  
  
"Love Is Where It Falls: An Account of a Passionate Friendship." She opened the cover. Nothing. What had she been expecting, an inscription? To whom? From whom?  
  
She leafed through it. A passionate friendship: a non-sexual relationship between two people who cared for each other deeply. This might be just the thing.  
  
Now that she had settled the what, she still had to solve the where. The couch? No, not downstairs. It felt too cold and lonely here. Her room then. The chair or. it had been ages since she had stayed in bed during the day for a Sunday read. That was it then. It had been stupid for her to wander around as if lost and in mourning. She would show herself that she still knew how to enjoy herself alone. And one of the first ways would be to acknowledge that on such an occasion, tea would just not do.  
  
Daphne had been surprised to find apricot brandy at the bar. Dr. Crane -- her boss --referred to it as the kidney pie of liqueurs and his younger brother usually agreed with him on such matters. She had always quite liked it herself, though not as much as Bailey's Irish Cream, her favourite drink of all. Frasier made her keep her Bailey's in her room, just like he insisted on hiding Mr. Crane's Ballantines at the back and bottom of the fridge whenever they had company.  
  
In simpler days she had mentioned to Dr. Niles Crane that she loved the taste so much it made her want to go and kiss someone, just to share it. Astonishingly, the cottage bar came equipped with its own new bottle.  
  
Armed with a good read and Bailey's over ice, Daphne felt better. She might just skip lunch and hide out in her room until sunset.  
  
On her way back to bed Daphne again paused in front of his door. He had said she was free to borrow warm clothes if she needed them. He had not specified that she had to take them from the wardrobe in her room. That was the excuse she would give him if he found out. The one she gave herself she supplemented with the thought that if her room was so luxurious and had such a lovely view, one could be rightfully curious as to the setting and view of the master bedroom.  
  
Daphne turned the knob; almost hoping it would be locked. Of course it was not. She went inside.  
  
It was not bigger or grander. Nor did it have a better view. It was nice enough, but it was considerably smaller and sparser and its medium-sized window looked over the side of the mountain.  
  
No longer concerned with pretending not to snoop, Daphne set down book and drink to check the wardrobe and drawer chest. They were empty except for the few items that he must have brought up with him and confirmed what she had known the moment she opened the door.  
  
The man who was no longer in love with her had given her his room.  
  
  
  
Don't drive angry. Dad had been saying that years before it became an official safety slogan. Perhaps Niles should stop again, but he had already pulled over three times and if he kept this up it would be midnight before he reached the cottage.  
  
He had finally come unhinged. He had seen Dad and Frasier exchange looks when he had stood up, too shocked to speak or even say good-bye as he left the apartment. They thought they knew him well enough to know why. They had no idea.  
  
Pull over and breathe. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Pull back onto the road slowly. Pull over again if the shaking gets too bad. His blood was boiling. His foot was heavy on the gas pedal yet he wished the cottage were a million miles away so he would never have to reach it.  
  
What the hell would he do when he saw her? What would he say? Would he confront her? With what? Daphne had not really done anything wrong. Of course. She never did anything to hurt him yet somehow and innocently she had managed to put him through hell a million times. In the past it was no effort to forgive her but never before had he been burned so badly.  
  
Was it better to know or not to know? He could not even answer that. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.  
  
Even supreme German auto engineering could not prevent his Mercedes from bouncing as he flew over a dip in the road. At this speed the road rose and coiled like a live snake. Niles slowed down. He could not get himself killed in an accident. He had too much to say to her.  
  
He did pull over a few more times and when the cottage finally came into view it was dark and way past the time he had promised. Well, she could wait a little longer. He would sit for a while and collect himself and.  
  
There she was, sillouetted in the doorway. Niles caught his breath. No. She came running down towards him, then as if sensing there was something wrong, stopped in the headlights, her smile hesitating then disappearing altogether. Niles' heart jumped into his throat and his being tugged towards her as stupid and eager as Eddie at his leash. Why was it he could do nothing but love her? And why, if loving her was all he could do, had she made it so impossible for him to do so. Niles switched off the car in one furious motion to remind himself to only feel what would protect him. If armour was useless then all that were left were thorns.  
  
She still stood there, now in darkness. He wondered if she could see his face. He could see hers. Why did she have to look so vulnerable, so small against a background of mountain? Good god, it could have something to do with the fact that she was wearing neither a coat nor shoes. Her breath came out in small transparent billows. Another tug at his heart.  
  
He got out of the car.  
  
"Sorry I'm late. The roads." he stopped there, leaving the sentence safely ambiguous. He busied himself taking the luggage out of the car. He did not look up so he did not see her coming until she was standing next to him, helping.  
  
"Well, you're here now." Her voice was restrained, as if taking a cue from his. They carried the things inside. Then she faced him and waited.  
  
"I. I'm afraid I will have to do some work tonight," he said. "I have a chance to make any phone calls while I was in Seattle." That was a lie. He had made one call.  
  
"Oh." Her eyes stayed solemn. She knew there was more. Stay angry or you will break down. It seemed simple but seeing her again. Niles forced himself to remember what she had done to him. Why he was going insane.  
  
"I spoke to Frasier," he said. Still she waited. She needed more.  
  
"He told me you and Donny broke off the engagement."  
  
The change in her face was barely perceptible. "I see." Her eyes flickered invisibly then continued their level gaze. Was that it?  
  
Niles picked up his briefcase and went into the study, closing the door behind him. There seemed nothing left for either of them to say. 


	7. Away from it all part 7

A lot of our Frasier's group's members are trying their hand at writing for the first time. All right! This is dedicated to them and to all Frasier fanfic writers and to all fanfic readers who send feedback in support. Y'all are going to get us through this looooooong summer. Cheers!  
  
Away from it All (part 7)  
  
It did not feel better to get away from her. Not that Niles felt his problems could be solved geographically; at this point he doubted anything would help except, perhaps, some sort of reverse transubstantiation. He rather liked the idea of trading in this existence for the life of a nice, uncomplicated loaf of bread.  
  
He was tired. God, he was tired. He had barely slept at all during the past three days. His last full night's sleep had been next to Mel. He remembered thinking, as they lay side by side in identical scented sleep masks, that his life - that dark pit of devastation brought on by Daphne's engagement - was finally becoming better.  
  
If he could turn back time he would go to that moment and freeze it there forever. He had not been entirely truthful with Daphne earlier. He did not have to go to Seattle to call his patients; he had everything he needed to conduct business right here in this office. There was only one call he could not make from the cottage because it just did not feel right.  
  
He phoned Mel from the Montana to tell her he would be staying the week at Shady Glen but had not told her he was here with Daphne. He had meant to, but had not. The sin of omission was bad enough when he had made it and that was before spending a week with an engaged woman had become spending a week with an unengaged woman.  
  
What would Mel have to say about that if he called her again now? If he were not so tired he might jump back into his car and drive to the nearest airport. He would take a plane back to Mel and to a world that made sense. Running away may not be the bravest thing he could do but it was manlier than his first choice which was to crawl under a piano, curl up into a ball and wail like a lost toddler.  
  
He was moments away from baying at the moon anyway. How could Daphne do this to him? Niles had placed that call to Mel before going to Frasier's. Immediately before. Mere moments before setting out to his brother's he had told Mel he had made the decision - though not in those words - to stay true to the wedding ring. Although it had simply been reconfirmation of his earlier promise, it had also been a big step. Finally he was resolved on where both Mel and Daphne were to fit into his life.  
  
Then he had gone to Frasier's and they told him the news. Daphne, the woman he was resigned to lose, was no longer engaged.  
  
He was going to be sick. The years of wanting and not having, the months of trying to piece together a heart gashed to bits by her engagement, of trying to put it back into semi-heartshape... now this. Still fragile and still leaking the odd drop of blood, that same heart had proved yet again the eternal ground zero for Hurricane Daphne. Once more she had touched down on the most vulnerable spot, demolishing and scattering the fragments of his being in the process.  
  
His eyes had not left the door since he had come in. He was half afraid Daphne would knock on his door, but she didn't. Was it possible he had found a safe space? The clutched muscles in his shoulders and abdomen loosened slightly. If Frasier were here he would tell Niles to grow up. And since Frasier was not here, Niles was inclined to agree that his brother had a point. There was a huge difference between an office and the underbelly of a piano. One was a place where children hid, the other where adults worked.  
  
Niles opened his briefcase. Daphne could not be his only concern. She could not. He had to call his patients. He wrote a list. Handle the Monday appointments; the rest can be done tomorrow. Call Jennifer and ask her to see the ones who cannot make the week without someone to talk to. Get Daphne out of your mind.  
  
The tough part was dialing, the rest was therapy. Apologies and arrangements were made efficiently in a reassuring professional tone that calmed both his patients and himself. When he was done he sat back in his chair almost fully relaxed and wondered whether it was too late to keep going. Continue with Tuesday's patients. Wednesday's. Thursday's...  
  
Niles awoke with a start. Where was he? It took several seconds to remember. It was nearly 2 in the morning. He must have dropped off in his chair after making the calls. That was unlike him; he usually found it impossible to fall asleep without a lengthy and precise pre-bed routine. Perhaps on top of everything else his narcolepsy had returned and wouldn't that be just dandy?  
  
Niles stretched, his stiff muscles grating painfully against one another. A piece of notepaper fell from his cheek. A list of tomorrow's - today's - patients. All checked off, thank god. He touched his face and found the groove left where he had chosen to use his pen as a pillow. Fingers moving upwards told him his hair was a mess as well. There was a reason for his ante dormire rituals.  
  
If not entirely refreshed, the five-odd hours of sleep had helped. He could now muster the courage to stand up, go upstairs, shower, change and hibernate until the end of the week. He opened the door to his study.  
  
Needless to say it was a bit of a shock to find that the coast was not clear. In the stillness of the late night, the turn of the door handle was enough to draw the attention of the hollow-eyed sentinel who sat waiting for him.  
  
"I thought you might fancy a sandwich," she said. If it was a peace offering, it was made half-heartedly, with barely a wave in the direction of the sideboard. She did not look at him.  
  
All Niles wanted was to go straight up to bed but when had he ever said no to Daphne? As he walked towards the plate, Daphne's glazed expression sharpened and her posture straightened a little, like an animal sensing the approach of a predator. Niles' own fight or flight instincts would have been more at ease in a roomful of wolves. Or Marises.  
  
He could not bring himself to touch the sandwich. The idea of food made him ill but how was he to back away from the food without initiating conversation? Just because he had been harbouring fantasies of a murder- suicide did not mean he wanted to hurt Daphne's feelings. He hazarded another glance in her direction. Her face was haunted and dark with shadows. She looked exactly the way she had looked at Frasier's, when Niles had so gallantly offered to sweep her up and take her away from it all. Some rescue this had turned out to be.  
  
"You're angry," she said, her voice lonely in the silence.  
  
"I don't know what I am."  
  
"You're angry," Daphne repeated. "I was afraid you would be. How did your brother know?"  
  
"Donny went to the house to pick up his cell phone. Apparently he had left it behind after you two... anyway, he told them."  
  
"Are they angry as well?"  
  
"They are worried sick about you." It took effort to control the volume of his voice. The tide was rising. She was right; he was angry.  
  
"What did you tell them?"  
  
"That I'd spoken to you recently, that I had no idea you had broken up. That you had only said you needed time away."  
  
"All true."  
  
"I didn't want to risk a nosebleed." He did not know what felt worse; that he was snapping at Daphne or that it seemed to have no effect on her. "I brought your music box."  
  
"Did you look inside?"  
  
"No, I... yes." She must have known why he had chosen that moment to mention it. She seemed unfazed by this invasion of privacy.  
  
"So you saw..."  
  
"Your engagement ring and what appeared to be twin wedding bands." He had been so obsessed with his own wedding ring that he had not noticed until he returned from Seattle that Daphne's fingers were bare.  
  
"Donny asked me to pick them up Friday morning." While Niles was busy trying hard not to fall to pieces, Daphne's face and voice remained expressionless. "Then he came to the apartment and... it was over. Just like that. I knew you would be cross."  
  
"How did you... Why did you think I would be upset?" He was but he would love to know why she thought he should be.  
  
"Because I knew how difficult it would be for you to forgive." The first hint of emotion crept into her voice. "Because you would never do anything like this. You are not the kind of man who would leave one woman for another, even if in your heart you knew the woman you intended to marry was not the woman you truly loved."  
  
"Wait a minute," Man? Another woman? What? "Are you saying..." No, it could not be. Niles stared at Daphne. "Are you saying it was Donny who broke things off with you?"  
  
"What? I..." she did not continue but it did not matter. Too many thoughts whirred through Niles' mind for him to pay any mind to outside voices, even Daphne's.  
  
"Why, that is unforgivable!" he sputtered. With no more reason to hold them closed, the floodgates sprang open. If he lived long enough to see the 22nd century, Niles would never get over the stupidity of men. It was bad enough that he himself had let Daphne slip though his fingers, but Donny...Eric, Joe, Rodney and countless others had all held heaven's own treasure in their hands and had consciously cast her away. "When Frasier told me he made it sound... or I just assumed...my god, I'm so sorry."  
  
Niles sat down on the couch next to her. "Daphne, you did not deserve him. If he was such a fool as to think he could ever have someone better than you, then he deserves to lose you. And if he did this to you, so close to your wedding day, he has absolutely no sense of honor or decency."  
  
"Dr. Crane..." Daphne looked stricken.  
  
"Don't defend him, he is worthy of only of contempt." Whatever feelings of ambiguity had plagued him when he thought it was Daphne who had made the decision vanished now that he knew it was Donny. Niles' rage turned murderous. He thought about how happy Daphne had looked when she accepted Donny's proposal. How happy she had always been with him.  
  
"If he wasn't sure he should have never...that bastard. " Donny had seemed crazy about Daphne but now it turned out he was just plain crazy. Mad. Certifiable. Criminally insane. "He is a despicable brute, Daphne. A lying, thieving, blackguard, no, worse, a lawyer with the intelligence of synthetic lint and the ethics of a...  
  
"Dr. Crane, please..." Daphne's voice broke and a veil of red covered Niles' eyes. He wanted to kill. How dare anyone hurt her like that.  
  
"Daphne, that man cannot..."  
  
"Stop, please!" Daphne burst into tears. "This is why I didn't say anything to you, I just knew you would be so cross."  
  
"Oh, Daphne." Niles' heart, so interconnected with Daphne's, broke with hers, which proved as effective as a sobering slap across the face. The veil dissipated. As much as he would like to strangle Donny with his bare hands, Daphne was more important now. Always.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I am," she sobbed. "I didn't lie to you, I just needed some time away. I could not stay in the city a minute longer, not when I felt I'd lost the one man I truly loved."  
  
The one man. A punch square in the chest. Why, he wanted to ask. Why could she love someone who treated her in this manner and not someone who would worship her until the end of his days? Daphne had crumbled in on herself and was crying into the arm of the sofa. His poor, broken angel.  
  
"Are you sure you have lost him?"  
  
"Yes," Daphne choked out the words between heaves. "He loves someone else. I've lost him forever."  
  
Niles vision blurred and he quickly rubbed his eyes dry. "I'm so sorry," he said. At that moment he would have given anything to get Donny back for her. Damn that man.  
  
"It was my own fault. I never really told him how I felt. I myself didn't know until it was too late."  
  
"I can't believe Donny would...."  
  
"Dr. Crane, please. Can we talk about something else?"  
  
"Of course." If that was all he could give her it was what she would have. But she did not seem ready to talk at all. His burst of fury had subsided, leaving him numb as he tried to take it all in. After a year Daphne was free yet she was not. Her heart was grieving and still tied to Donny, the only man she ever really loved. Niles reached out to her but she turned away and all the anger he thought had evaporated returned with fangs and with a mean appetite, mostly for Donny but for men in general, for Niles himself in particular, he having betrayed her in his own way.  
  
He sat next to her helplessly, watching her cry. For six painful, wonderful years he had been Daphne's confidant in matters of love, someone who always knew whom she was dating and when.  
  
"You are so much easier to talk to than either your father or your brother," she used to tell him. "I always feel I can tell you these things." Lucky him. But for some reason, very likely because he had removed himself from her over the past year, Daphne had not allowed herself to come to him when she so badly needed a friend, even here alone and far from everyone else. For that he deserved his own little platform on the gallows. Right next to Donny.  
  
"Daphne, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've been very unfair to you, nothing like the friend I want to be." She only cried harder. She obviously was not ready for this conversation but it was killing him to see her cry like this. Killing him.  
  
"Hey, I brought you something," he said. The change of subject worked a small miracle. Sobs ebbed as Daphne looked up and watched him run for his luggage. She actually smiled when he returned with his prize.  
  
"It's London!" she exclaimed. Niles, who had archived millions of mental images of Daphne over the years had never seen her smile through tears and reeled from the serious effect it had on his soul. Weakly, he handed her the puzzle he had dug up at The Montana. "Good lord," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's ten thousand pieces!"  
  
"And I think we should stay put until it's done," Niles' attempt at light- heartedness would have been more effective had it not been croaked.  
  
"Really?" Now, why would she ask that? Sparkling eyes through damp lashes caused another surge that deregulated normal ventricular operation. Generous, good-hearted Daphne, always so quick to forgive.  
  
"Absolutely," he said. She smiled at him again, leaving him weak-kneed. He sat back down next to her. He had no idea how, but it would appear he had finally done and said something right. Daphne was admiring the box as if it were an expensive Christmas gift, rather than a sudden, inspired thought he had had halfway to Seattle.  
  
"It's mostly rooftops," he pointed out helpfully.  
  
"So it is," she beamed. "This will take forever."  
  
"Then we'll stay forever," he said, meaning it but already knowing she would take it only as a joke. A quick shadow of pain passed over her face before the smile returned, softer than before but just as real.  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Crane." The glistening of her eyes became more pronounced.  
  
His arms ached to hug her but her earlier rejection still stung. "Look, about the puzzle, it's quite a big task we have ahead of us, so why don't we both go get a good night's sleep, before we start? Okay?"  
  
"Yes, you're right." Reluctantly, she set the puzzle down. "So, we'll start on this tomorrow, shall we?"  
  
Daphne's conscience started in on her as she waited for Dr. Crane to finish locking up. She knew she was doing a terrible thing. No, not just one. She had probably done more terrible things in these past few days than she had the rest of her life put together.  
  
Breaking up with Donny had been just the start. Almost kissing a married man was yet another proud moment. And now she had Dr. Crane blaming Donny for her broken engagement. She still had no idea how that happened, but it did not change that she had given up trying to correct him. Donny, whom she had already hurt so badly, stood accused of the crime Daphne had committed.  
  
Why had it never occurred to her that Dr. Crane might find out about all this when he went to Seattle? Very likely because she had barely given it a thought herself. She would have never believed she was the type of woman who could forget one man so soon in favour of another, but here she was, with the romantic attention span of someone off daytime television.  
  
She should be grateful that there was a higher power punishing her for her misdeeds, as timely as the alarm on her watch. She had called off her marriage on Friday morning, just a few hours before Mel had telephoned with news her elopement with Dr. Crane. She had not broken up with Donny because she expected a future with anyone else, she had just finally acknowledged that she could not marry one man when all her waking - and most of her sleeping - thoughts were engaged with another.  
  
She was ashamed that she had put Donny out of her mind so easily. She truly had loved him. She loved him still but not in the way she loved the man who had been her friend for seven years. Her conscience told her that was no excuse. She had accepted Donny's proposal when she felt in her heart she should have broken up with him. They had made wedding plans and plans for a shared forever. Then she had dumped him and only days later sat by passively as the man she loved dragged her ex-fiancé's name through mud. Her mud.  
  
Dr. Crane switched off the last light and followed her upstairs. Now. She should set him straight now. She should just stop here on this step and turn around, do at least one thing right by Donny and let the blame fall where it belonged.  
  
The steps ended and they were in front of his door. Not his door, the guestroom door. The room he had taken in order to give her the nicest room in the cottage. His blue eyes gazed at her. He fidgeted a little, as he always did when she gazed back at him. It had taken seven years to find out why.  
  
Just tell him, once and for all.  
  
"Dr. Crane..." she stopped as he tried to conceal a yawn.  
  
He looked tired. Rumpled. But not upset the way he had been when he returned from Seattle. The scale of his reaction to news of her broken engagement had shocked her. She had seen him angry with his brother, even with his wife, but this anger had been different, and not just because it was directed at her. It was more than anger. Disappointment, she guessed. He had always had such nice things to say about her and he had once even been in love with her. He probably never imagined she could do something so awful as to break her promise to, not to mention the heart of, a good man.  
  
It should not have surprised her that he would react so strongly. She knew how much he valued the sacredness of marriage. His brother claimed that he had been in love with her even when he was with Mrs. Crane - the first Mrs. Crane, that was - but he never showed a moment of impropriety. Quite the opposite, he gave every last bit of effort and then some to save his marriage. How could someone so honorable pardon such dishonorable behavior in anyone else?  
  
As they stood fidgeting in the hallway, Daphne suddenly realized something else, something even worse. Dr. Crane's first marriage had finally dissolved when his wife fell in love with someone else. He knew firsthand about this sort of betrayal; he had lived it. It must have been a terrible shock that Daphne, a person he thought he knew, would treat a man as cruelly as his wife had treated him. Her conscience was right; she deserved every bit of contempt he held for such people.  
  
Yet the look in his blue eyes was nothing like the look they had held earlier that evening. He did not hate her. They were concerned and tired and now, with her pausing in front of his door, a little uneasy, but they were not angry. Earlier he had seemed revitalized, almost ecstatic when he had been able to shift the blame from Daphne to Donny. It was almost as if he needed to believe that there was one woman he knew who was incapable of such actions. Of course, it all made sense now; being newly married the last think he needed was to be reminded that women could and did leave with hardly a backward glance.  
  
It was not right to do this to him, not yet.  
  
"I just wanted to say... I'm sorry I did not talk to you sooner."  
  
"No, it really was not my place..." he stopped. "This is normally where I would insist it was none of my business, but... I care about you, Daphne."  
  
She was going to cry again. At this moment it was impossible to know whether those words were the kindest or the most painful words he could have said.  
  
"Good night," she said, making her escape before everything spilled out. He would find out the truth eventually but for now she saw no good in telling him. She did not want him to despise her for what she had done to Donny. She was already busy despising herself.  
  
She closed the door to her room - his room - and let the tears flow. Everything he had said about Donny was true about her. She was the despicable brute. The liar. Her one small consolation was that they were staying. After seeing his face when he returned from Seattle she had been so sure they would be leaving the next day, if not that very night. She had hardly believed it when he had pulled out that puzzle but knew right away what it meant. They were staying.  
  
Daphne dropped her bag next to her bed. It was the bag she had packed for her trip with Donny, their week in New York. Donny hated New York but had surprised her with the trip because she wanted to go. He had even found someone to take care of Mr. Crane's exercises so her boss would not gripe too much about the unscheduled time off. Some of the clothes she had packed were a bit too dressy or sexy for mountains, lakes and friendships, but most were serviceable.  
  
Dr. Crane, her host, had handed her music box to her before going round to lock up. She did not open it. She had pushed Donny so far out of her mind that she had not thought about what it contained when she asked for it. Three rings, two picked up at the jewelers just days earlier, the other removed permanently from her finger soon after. It was the moment she had held the wedding rings in her hand that she knew she could not go through with it. She had called Donny at work and asked to meet with him for dinner but he must have heard something in her voice because he went directly to the apartment. She had been so sure that she would remember the look on his face until the end of her days, but she had forgotten it almost instantly, replacing it with someone else's.  
  
Two days later, Donny's shocked, stricken eyes were coming back to haunt her. And so it should. She knew enough from life experience that one does not call up someone whose heart she's broken to find out how he is doing. She knew time and distance were the only healers for such pain.  
  
Like the time and distance you are putting between yourself and Dr. Crane, her conscience asked. Shut up, she told it.  
  
Daphne sat on the bed, running her fingers over her music box carving. She may have made a mess of things but it really was too late for her to tell Dr. Crane she was the one who had called off the wedding. After all, if she did she would also have to explain that when she said she had lost the one man she truly loved, she had not been talking about Donny. 


	8. Away from it all part 8

To everyone who wrote, thank you and I'm sorry this is so late. With special affection to Erin, Mindy and the newly-resurrected Misti. I'm glad you're back.  
  
Away from it all (part 8)  
  
Often when people cannot cope with one thought, they obsess about others. It's a defense mechanism and is used as commonly to protect oneself from terrifyingly good news as with terrifyingly bad news. Niles' first thought when he woke up that morning was one he should have had almost 20 hours earlier instead of harping on and on about bad timing and then later about how evil and stupid Donny Douglas, attorney at law, was.  
  
Daphne was free.  
  
The thought woke him up at seven and in a stunned daze he got up to fix breakfast. He did not really expect her down so early but it did not hurt to take precautions. The impossible had happened; Daphne was free.  
  
When she did not appear by nine he left breakfast on the set table set and went back to bed.  
  
He awoke again at noon, finally feeling fully rested but still in shock. He was not worried when he found Daphne's plate untouched, aware that late nights and heavy crying sessions both required extra bed time. He cleared breakfast and replaced it with lunch, anticipating that she would be up soon with a ferocious appetite. Then he went into his study and made arrangements with the remainder of this week's patients.  
  
He poked his head out of the office at 2 o'clock to find that Daphne had still had not emerged. He checked again at 3, at 3:30, 3:45, 3:50 and 3:52. He could no longer concentrate on his work. At 4 o'clock he knocked softly on her bedroom door.  
  
"Daphne?" He knocked a little harder then tried the door. It was unlocked.  
  
The first thought that went through his mind when he opened the door was that of tornados that caused selective damage in the Midwest; demolishing a single house here and there while entirely sparing the neighbors. Tornados were like that, as capricious as they were cruel, and lent support to his lifelong conviction that Nature was Not To Be Trusted. Niles only felt safe in the great indoors, which was why the scene before him was so disconcerting: a room which was neat, tidy and untouched except for a disaster site bed worthy of the 6 o'clock news.  
  
Sheets, blankets and quilts held each other in chokeholds as if they had reached an impasse at a wrestling match and were each waiting tensely for the others to yell uncle. Pillows had wisely jumped ship but judging from the single long leg and two arms that emerged limply from the fray, some poor soul had tried to be a hero and come out all the worse for it.  
  
Niles took one step forward then another one back as the limbs jerked to life, acting as a propeller for the entire mechanism, and the bedding thrashed about for a full five seconds before settling back down in defeat and exhaustion.  
  
A sleepy mumble escaped the depths of the beast and Niles almost smiled. Donny had mentioned before that Daphne was a restless sleeper and Niles, just before tuning him out, assumed he must be exaggerating. It now appeared, however, that the despised lawyer may have actually softened the truth. Looking at the nuclear fallout before him Niles wondered how any man could survive such a night.  
  
Cautiously, he approached again. The toes of one exposed foot curled and rubbed against the sheets in a sensuous, almost feline motion which made him think wistfully that there were worse ways to die than to be throttled in the throes of Daphne.  
  
After circling twice, Niles found a fragment of face hidden not only by the covers but by hair so wild it reminded him of the material one used to scour an unseasoned pan. An eyebrow frowned as if Daphne had heard the unflattering comparison and Niles' heart thumped hard against his ribcage. She was so impossibly beautiful. He picked up a pillow and gently lifted her cheek onto it. She turned her face inwards and whimpered.  
  
"Shhhh." Niles reached out and tried to smooth her hair back. He had no idea what he would say to her if she woke up and found him not only in her room but touching her in her sleep. It did not matter. It was impossible to leave.  
  
Slowly her hair untangled under his careful, patient fingers, slowly more and more of her face became visible. Daphne was free. When he received the news of the broken engagement he had not been thinking clearly. He had been upset when he should have euphoric. Daphne was no longer engaged and, frankly my dear, to hell with everything else. His fingers traced her cheek, coming as close as they dared to her lips.  
  
Another whimper, another mumble, but still she slept. She thought him too decent and too good to ever leave one woman for another but he would show her. Although it mattered to her and therefore mattered to him, there had to be a way. He took a long breath as if it would help him take it all in. Daphne was no longer engaged. It was not too late.  
  
Daphne turned again, the frown drawn miserably over her closed eyes. This time she actually cried out.  
  
"Donny," she said. She shuddered and retreated from his hand back into the pile of bedclothes. A soft sobbing sound came from within, then stopped.  
  
Closing the door behind him as gently as he was able, Niles stood outside her room forever. He could barely remember leaving. She did not want him, she wanted Donny. Yesterday's defense mechanism had not protected him so much from the truth as from delusion. Freedom only mattered if Daphne could love him back.  
  
He had always known it was impossible for Daphne to love him as much as he loved her simply because no one, not even a goddess, could love anyone else as much as Niles loved Daphne. But could he spend the rest of his days with someone who called out another man's name in her sleep? Anyone with a shred of dignity would say no.  
  
Bad choice of words, Niles acknowledged immediately, for when before and especially after Maris, had Niles had any dignity?  
  
One strike against him. And even if he had dignity, how would it protect him from adoring Daphne when so far nothing else had. Strike two. What was it, three strikes that lost the set? The match? If he was so distraught that he had actually attempted a sports metaphor he needed some air.  
  
He scribbled a note for her and left it by her plate.  
  
Daphne,  
  
I've gone to run some errands in town. I won't be long.  
  
And he signed it, Niles.  
  
Daphne stayed with him on the drive as she stayed with him always, but the startling blue sky brightened dark thoughts. The memory of Daphne calling out the name of her ex-fiancé was edged out by the memory of the way she had looked lying in bed, her eyelashes dark against her cheeks. It had been a long time since he had watched her sleep.  
  
He thought of her tear-streaked cheeks last night, of her drawn, stressed face this afternoon, about the wild hair silkening at his fingertips. He may have lost count of the times he had promised himself that he would be there for her no matter how much it hurt him, but this time he really meant it. I won't be long, he promised silently. If it kills me, I will be there every time you need me. Always.  
  
Niles did stop for groceries but not in Almede, or even in Bear's Creek. He drove through the mountains, passing town after town after town and ending up somewhere called Symphony, Washington. Despite the grandiose name it was a one-horse town but Niles was pleased enough to find ripe blueberries and a jug of homemade apple cider at the local store.  
  
On the way back he placed a call to First Robin on his cell phone and stopped to pick up a large thermos of pumpkin soup and a loaf of warm bread, both house specialties. When he pulled up to the house he rolled down the windows and sat back to enjoy the brisk air and what was left of daylight.  
  
His wedding ring lay quietly at the bottom of his pocket. Unlike every other time he had been away from Daphne, at this moment he felt no inclination to put it on. In fact, he had barely given it a though all day. Daphne may be mourning Donny but she was no longer with him. She was here.  
  
Inside the cottage the table was bare except for a new note.  
  
Have gone for walk. Thank you for lunch.  
  
D.  
  
Cue the panic attack. A walk? She had gone for a walk? Did she not know there were bears out there in them woods? None sighted in the past twenty odd years, but if there was one thing Niles could do it was sense danger in the wild. That was why he was the only one who knew about the bears. And the wolves. And the lynx. And everyone knew about the owls. At least - and thank god for that - it was still too cold for crickets.  
  
Breathe, Niles. Daphne was in danger and it was up to him to go out and rescue her. He should take a gun with him. There was a rack of hunting rifles next to the back porch. He had never used one but how hard could it be? He just hoped they came preloaded. "Oh, hello Dr. Crane. How was your drive?"  
  
"Fine." Niles felt faint. She was safe. "Fine."  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't really think you'd make it back before me." Nothing to forgive, Niles thought. All was forgotten from the moment she walked through the door, her eyes sparkling and her porcelain skin nipped pink here and there from the cold. She pulled off her gloves and blew on her hands. "I'm not used to being cooped up, what between your father and Eddie and errands for your brother I'm out of the house as much as I'm in."  
  
Numb from relief and from the vision she made (she was wearing his down jacket!) Niles had temporarily forgotten himself. Now he remembered and he rushed over to help her out of the jacket. He wanted more than anything to put it on himself but settled for what he normally did when her back was turned and she was close; lean over and inhale.  
  
"If you will give me a few minutes I'll light the fire for you," he said, wishing it would make her feel as warm and as happy as he had felt yesterday when she had made a fire for him. Daphne sat on the couch across from their brand new jigsaw puzzle.  
  
"You know what occurred to me?" she asked, as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Her fingers touched his as she reached back to pull her hair free. They were still icy cold. Niles moved away quickly before his hands could reach for hers, longing as they did to warm them for her.  
  
"Er, no. What?"  
  
"That there was a time you and I were living in London at the same time." She was gazing at the puzzle box. "It's even possible that we might have run into each other."  
  
"No, that's impossible. I would have remembered."  
  
"But we could have..."  
  
"I would have remembered."  
  
She looked up at him, pulling him into her dark eyes. Niles busied himself lighting the fire, then fled to the kitchen with the promise of a warm drink. Her face lit up with pleasure when he put the mug of hot apple cider in her hands. He hoped she noticed that he had added a cinnamon, honey, lemon juice and brandy, just the way she liked it. He watched as she sipped it, immersed again in the picture on the cover of the puzzle. There was something else on the table; one of his books. Daphne noticed him lean forward to get a better look.  
  
"'Love is Where it Falls.' I found it on your shelf. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"Not at all." Why did his heart start humming arias every time she said the word 'love?'  
  
"Yes, well, I'm afraid I haven't gotten very far. But the first couple of pages are very good," Daphne held the mug close to her face. Steam rose and billowed around her in appropriately heaven-like clouds. "I thought it was sweet the way he remembered so clearly the first time he saw her, even after all these years."  
  
"Folding laundry." Niles' ears heard his own words too late to send a warning to his brain.  
  
"No, she was on the phone."  
  
"I mean you. You were folding laundry."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"The first time I saw you. You were taking clothes out of the laundry basket, shaking them out and folding them into piles." What was wrong with him?  
  
"I might have been." Daphne looked self-conscious "I don't remember."  
  
"You were wearing a denim shirt and black leggings and a silver pendant on a black ribbon around your throat." Sure, now that his foot was in him mouth, why not just jiggle it around a little, see whether he could choke himself? "Your hair was very long and very curly. You looked beautiful."  
  
Actually he had noticed neither the laundry nor her clothes at the time, they both were something he recalled much later on the ten or eleven thousandth playback of the moment. The first time he saw Daphne he had stopped breathing, almost more aware of his reaction than of the woman who was causing it. He must have known, even then, that from that moment onwards his eyes would hunger every time she left his sight. What he had not known then was how she would continue to transform his life for the next seven years. Nor had he known that he would discover new depths to both heart and soul or that through her he would catch his first and all subsequent glances of perfect happiness.  
  
His angel stared at him. Can you blame her, his brain asked in disgust?  
  
"So," Niles nodded towards the book. "Any thoughts on passionate friendship?"  
  
"Just," she blinked. "Just that it sounds like a lovely idea."  
  
"Yes." Lovely. When she got past the first few pages she would find that the woman in the story wanted more than friendship but was willing to take what she could get. Well, Niles could relate to that. "Does that mean that you've re-thought the whole Dr. Crane thing?"  
  
"Not yet." Daphne bowed her head nervously further into her mug.  
  
"Well, you're not off the hook but I won't pressure you just yet." Niles picked up the remaining groceries which lay forgotten on the table. "What do you say we get started on dinner?"  
  
##  
  
Daphne tried to insist it was her turn to help with the dishes but Niles would not hear of it. After dinner he found her on the porch and he stood as she sat, gazing at her as she gazed at the stars.  
  
Although there had been no further mention of her broken engagement or of the night before, Daphne was still nowhere near the Daphne she had been. Her eyes, her words, even her smiles were guarded. Even sitting out here in the dark and quiet, her stance told him she was prepared to slingshot out of there and disappear into the woods in an instant if so provoked.  
  
She was wearing his jacket again with the hood drawn just high enough to cover her ears and her hands stuffed into the pockets. Thank goodness he had transferred the ring to his lined coat this morning.  
  
Her breaths came transparently white and misty. Niles' private theory was that Daphne was a changeling. That on their trip back from the hospital - with the obligatory stop at the pub - Daphne's parents drove drunkenly off the road (this part was not fiction or even infrequent, according to Daphne who merrily explained that "something about having yet another baby always put them in mind for a celebration") and their baby had rolled out into a field of flowers. Upon regaining consciousness, the Moons grabbed the first infant they found - accidentally kidnapping a newborn of faerie royalty - and took her home to raise as their own.  
  
This exchange was unfortunate for everyone except Niles and even he winced to think that somewhere in a faraway kingdom was an oafish human, probably male and with a genetic preference for fermented berries, who had spent his childhood pulling the wings off his schoolmates.  
  
Daphne had not turned when he came out and Niles had became convinced she had not even noticed him standing there, which is why it startled him when she suddenly turned and looked at him with cool and unsurprised eyes.  
  
"What is it?" she asked tersely, almost impatiently.  
  
"Nothing," but her expression forbade a lie. "Um, can I get you more apple cider?"  
  
"Thanks. I'd better not." Her face softened but her laugh sounded forced.  
  
"It may help you relax."  
  
"Oh. Do I seem tense to you?"  
  
"A little." Daphne seemed devastated by the idea that her act might not be as good as she'd hoped. Her act. The words reverberated in Niles' head.  
  
"Daphne," the use of her name seemed to cause more strain rather than less. Note to self. "Er, do you remember what you told me once about secrets?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"It was that night you first came to help me prepare dinner."  
  
"For your date with Daphyllis?"  
  
"Yes," Niles sighed. "For my date with Daphyllis."  
  
Daphne looked like she could use a bit more prompting.  
  
"You said," he reminded her, "that you did not believe in secrets. Your theory, if I remember correctly, was that people keep secrets because they are afraid that the truth will lead to rejection: emotional, societal, what have you."   
  
"Dr. Crane, I'm pretty sure I have never used the word 'societal' in my life."  
  
  
"Quite right," he smiled. "What you said was that you felt the world would be a better place without secrets. That if everyone just came out and said what they were thinking, there would be less opportunity to judge others. There would also be less cause for misunderstandings."  
  
  
"I remember," Daphne nodded. "But, why bring this up now?"  
  
  
"Because I remember thinking a great deal about what you said and wishing that I had the ability to unburden myself of my secrets. One very big one in particular. I hoped that with time I might learn from you."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And it would appear that instead of my adopting your gift for honesty, somehow you have picked up my bad habit of holding things in."   
  
"It's cold, we should go back inside."  
  
To tell the truth Niles, whose skin was exceptionally sensitive to the elements, had hardly noticed the cold. What did not escape him was the textbook example of avoidance.  
  
"You have been looking like this for months. It started right around Christmas, last year, I think."  
  
"Maybe I will have a bit more of that cider."  
  
"When we do things that are not natural for us it causes an inner rift which can have disastrous consequences." Niles followed her inside.  
  
"You do it all the time," Daphne said sharply before returning to her normal voice. "Can I pour you some as well?"  
  
"I may do it all the time, but I have had years of practice holding things in. Secrets are not normal for you. They are not your habit, nor do you believe in them." His psychiatrist's instinct told him, as it always did, that he was close to a breakthrough. He felt that customary excitement; that addictive, almost-there adrenalin that would not let him turn back even if he wanted to. These were the most gratifying moments of his professional career, for they culminated in an explosive revelation which invariably represented a gargantuan leap forward in the otherwise painstakingly slow road to wellness.  
  
"What is it, Daphne?" Again she jumped at the mention of her name and he knew he was nudging her closer to the edge. "Is it Donny? Tell me. Let me help."  
  
He stood in front of the door, more a psychological block than a physical one, letting her know that this time he was not going to let her get away. She was reaching her breaking point, he could smell it. Were the methods not so evolved, if he were not a Yale-educated being with an IQ surpassing genius, Niles would have said there was something almost predatory, almost animal about the process. But it was and he was and the aim of this goading was enlightenment. To cure, not kill.  
  
"This is not like you... Daphne." Go on, he urged silently as he always did. Trust me to be there if you fall. Trust that maybe you won't fall; you will fly. "I'm worried about you. Please, you can tell me any..."  
  
"I know you were in love with me for six years."  
  
The explosion was blinding. 


	9. Away from it all part 9

To Misti, first for her inspiration, then for her encouragement and most recently for her hard-ass warning that part 9 was due Monday...ish. (  
  
Dedicated with affection to the Beth and Traxland of the Student Strike brigade. Here is part 9, now please go back to class, get good grades, become successful and fabulously powerful. We need more Frasier fans in high places.  
  
Away from it All (part 9)  
  
He did not say, "I still do, with all my heart."  
  
In fact it was impossible to say anything until the return of his mind, blown out of this world and last seen streaking by the Horse Head Nebula. There were bombshells and then there were bombshells.  
  
"I know you were in love with me for six years."  
  
If there was anything in the world he might have imagined she would say to him, this was absolutely the last... the furthest... the most... Obviously his brain was still skirting asteroids. His entire nervous system had bailed on him, leaving only enough of functioning to keep him in an upright position while he gawked.  
  
She knew.  
  
When Daphne's face finally came back into focus, her expression was both defiant and shocked. If her intention had been to shut him up, she could have hardly done so more effectively but obviously she had not planned to say that she knew that he...  
  
She knew?  
  
How?  
  
And for how long?  
  
Someone must have told her. But nobody knew except Frasier and Dad. And Roz. Roz, despite their mutual enmity, would not do such a thing to him. Not without gloating afterwards. And Dad had made it perfectly clear years ago that he would not forgive either of his sons if they did anything that would make Daphne want to quit again.  
  
Which left his brother.  
  
No, never in a million years. Not on purpose. And even if he had let it slip accidentally he would have told Niles. Frasier may have thought the infatuation ridiculous, his but ethics and general decency would not have permitted Niles to be in the dark about this.  
  
Which left only one other possible explanation. Horror filled Niles' veins where once there had run blood.  
  
Daphne must have figured it out on her own.  
  
Niles thought he had successfully hidden his feelings all these years but Daphne may have guessed from the beginning and had never said anything because she wanted to...  
  
No...  
  
As if reading him, Daphne looked away. Tears in her voice, she whispered:  
  
"I wish... I'm so sorry."  
  
She had never said anything because she wanted to spare his feelings. Kind, gentle, beautiful Daphne had never said anything because she could not love him back.  
  
No.  
  
His soul may be trillions of miles away in some obscure galaxy, but wherever it was he knew it had received the message. He knew it was screaming.  
  
Deep inside he had always held out hope. That despite his being married to Mel and Daphne to Donny there was a small possibility that they would one day be together, even if it was just for fifteen minutes at the very end of their lives. He had also known that as long as he kept quiet about his feelings that hope would continue. The only way to extinguish it once and for all was if he found out for certain Daphne did not return his feelings.  
  
As he just had.  
  
And Niles realised he had never really known death before.  
  
Daphne. He wanted to cry out her name, howl it with the chilling loneliness of a wolf. Daphne. He wanted to say her name because for years his heart had been broken over and over but had never permanently stopped beating.  
  
Daphne. All that was left was to stop breathing. Through the white shroud of death he saw his angel and wished he really could die now, that her face would be the last thing he saw.  
  
That face which over the years had grown even more beautiful than the first time he laid eyes on it. Niles took a sudden deep breath. It was not the face but the expression on it that told him he could not die, not yet.  
  
She looked so desperately sad.  
  
Of course. Niles had expertly extracted a patient's secret but in his stupid psychiatrist's vanity he had forgotten two things. One, was that Daphne was not his patient. And two, that Daphne was not his patient. He loved her and, dear god, she loved him. She may have pitied him as well, but she loved him in her way and despite her inability to address him by his first name it was the purest, cleanest form of friendship anyone had ever offered him.  
  
Daphne was squinting with the effort of not letting her tears fall.  
  
Eternal minutes ago he had told her she was no good at keeping secrets. Right. For who knows how long she had tried not to hurt him and had done so successfully until he forced the secret out of her. By cornering her not only had he dashed his own dreams against rocks but now even the careful friendship he had tried to build was on the line. She looked so sad Niles felt he could actually die a second time.  
  
"Please don't be sorry, Daphne." The words sawed gashes on their way up his throat but sounded surprisingly level. Incredibly, he found that he could even will himself to smile. "I did, and it was a very beautiful time in my life..." he would not choke on the words. He would not cry. "There is something about love that makes us into better people. You gave that to me and I ... I will always be grateful."  
  
Screaming. His soul was screaming.  
  
##  
  
So that was that.  
  
He had loved her once but it was all in the past. It was kind of him to tell her that the way he felt had changed his life; as if he had forgiven her for not returning his feelings until it was too late. It was kind of him not to mention Mel.  
  
His face kept swimming into shapes as her eyes filled up like an aquarium. It helped not to see him properly.  
  
He had finally said what she had only heard from other people. It was too early to tell yet whether she would take back the words if she could. For one thing, he was right; she was terrible at hiding and secrets. She had told Roz and a million times she had nearly told Dr. Crane or his brother. She had not even been able to keep from Donny that she did not love him enough to marry him.  
  
Was it only five days ago that she still thought she could go through with the wedding? Last night her nightmares were guilt-ridden replays of Donny's face when she had told him that she could neither spend the week nor her life with him.  
  
But why? All her life she had taken risks and either enjoyed the rewards or learned to live happily with whatever consequences came along. And most of those risks were a lot scarier than settling down with a man who adored her. Or they should have been.  
  
Exactly one week ago tonight they had broken open a bottle of champagne to celebrate yet another out of court settlement. Donny was always high as a kite when this happened.  
  
"Who wants to marry a millionaire?" he had asked, clinking his glass to hers.  
  
Daphne had laughed to keep herself from answering.  
  
"It's the reason I do what I do," he had said, as he often did. "Giving your clients the good news... It's just the best feeling in the world." Then he kissed her. "Or at least it was until I met you."  
  
Daphne kissed him back, silently pleading with that best feeling in the world to come over her, to make her feel the same way about Donny that he felt about her. It did not, of course, it never did. Until so very recently she had thought she loved Donny as much as she was capable of loving anyone.  
  
"You should have seen the other guy, Daph," Donny laughed. "One thing I'll say for him is; he took it like a man. A good lawyer always knows when he's beat."  
  
"Do you?" Daphne teased, sitting on his lap.  
  
"I've never had to find out," he grinned. That was when he told her that in addition to everything else, the settlement meant he was free to whisk her away to New York this week and started rattling off all the wonderful things they would do and see on their trip.  
  
This was the man, the same one who had offered to sweep all the stars from the sky and lay them at her feet, this was the generous, thoughtful and marvellous man Daphne had let go and crushed, just weeks before their wedding day.  
  
The conversation and the apartment had been surprisingly short. When Daphne had told him she could not marry him, Donny was understandably stunned. Twice he asked why and when Daphne could not answer, he stood up and slowly staggered to the door.  
  
"Donny..."  
  
"Don't, Daphne," he said softly from behind slumped shoulders. "A good lawyer knows when he's beat."  
  
If only he knew how much she had hated her own heart for not knowing a good thing when it saw one.  
  
Karma worked with efficient vengance. Hours after she had broken Donny's heart, a phone call had broken hers. Then it had broken again when she saw the man who had taught her exactly how much love she was capable of kiss his new wedding ring. Then again when she heard him say finally that he had loved her once but now she had lost her chance to share that love for a lifetime.  
  
Threefold, right? That should have squared her up with the universe.  
  
She could have lifted a house with the effort it took not to let the tears fall. She was no good at this either.  
  
Why was it such a shock? She knew Dr. Crane was married. She had heard him say he how happy he was now and how very much in love he was with Mel. The way he had said it should have left no doubt.  
  
Her tears burned like acid but what was said was said, what was done was done.  
  
Dr. Crane did not look so good when she dropped the bomb but that was his fault, really. Why couldn't he just leave things be? Why did he have to keep hounding her? And if he had been shocked by what he had made her blurt out, what would he have done if she had let slip the biggest revelation of all? What if she had said: "I'm in love with you?"  
  
He was bloody lucky, that's what he was. Bloody lucky she only treated him to the smaller shock. By comparison, it was no big deal, really.  
  
Still, it was the first time she'd ever seen someone turn ashen.  
  
As soon as the words had left her mouth, as soon as he turned that sickly shade of grey she knew it was true. She knew that as bad as these months had been for her, with her being secretly in love with him, he had suffered his own secret for a full six years.  
  
She must have caused him such pain.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she had said, and now she said it again even though she knew in her heart of hearts it was not enough. It could never be enough.  
  
The aquarium overflowed and Daphne blinked back what she could. She rubbed her eyes dry and tried once more to face him.  
  
Something was terribly wrong. The colour had not returned yet to his face but it was more than that. As she watched he sank onto the couch and leaned forward on his knees, no longer looking at her but straight ahead. He was controlling his breathing.  
  
He was about to have another attack.  
  
"Dr. Crane?" She sat next to him and put her hand flat on his back, feeling the taut, concentrated rise and fall. He was struggling but he seemed to have it under control. Rise, fall, rise, fall. Daphne found herself breathing with him. Rise, fall, rise, fall. It did not get any worse but it did not get any better. New tears replaced the old and followed the beaten path down her cheeks. He was trying so hard.  
  
"Dr. Crane," she whispered. Because there was nothing else she could do and because she could not help herself, Daphne leaned her head against his shoulder. There was a jump in his breathing, then the tightness of his back loosened and finally the breaths moved easier. A cautious arm crept around her, drawing her to him as he sank back into the couch so she would not think he was pulling away.  
  
Daphne started to cry. He was so considerate, so caring. And he was still her friend. She put her arms around him so he would not get any funny ideas about moving away but he did not move, except to hold her even closer and let her cry. UnCrane-like, he asked no questions. She would not have known how to answer them anyway. UnCrane-like he also made no protest about the deep water marks that seeped into and darkened his cardigan. For the millionth time in the past few days Daphne sobbed out of control and unable to stop. But this time someone she loved was holding her and it made all the difference in the world.  
  
"I love you, Dr. Crane."  
  
"I love you too, Daphne."  
  
They had sad the words before. She could not remember when, but... that's right, it was the night at the bar after they had both been dumped. Her by Rodney and he by what's-her-name. Adelle. Stupid woman. Back then she had said 'I love you' in friendship and had not known his answer, identical to hers in words were completely different in meaning. Now it was she who spoke the words more truly and deeply than she had ever spoken them before and he who echoed with friendship. Ironic. Maybe one day she would tell him about this and they would laugh and laugh and laugh.  
  
Not tonight.  
  
Sobs wrung out of her as they got their second wind. She loved him so much for being here, for holding her while she cried. For forgiving her for shocking him into near asphyxiation. He hugged her and murmured what sounded like "I love you," again, but it was probably only what she wanted to hear so she chose to leave it be.  
  
God, how she loved him.  
  
##  
  
God, how he loved her. This was what he had dreamed of for the past seven years. He wanted to hold Daphne close to him like this for the rest of his life. He wanted to be in this place which by some ridiculous paradox he had only reached after all hope of a future was lost.  
  
Daphne cried forever. Thinking he should get her a drink or at least a box of tissues, he once tried to sit up but Daphne clutched tighter and did not let him. She needed him to do exactly what he was doing. She needed to be held. No one had ever wanted Niles to hold her before. He sank back down and gently kissed her hair. He had better do it well.  
  
They spent the night in each other's arms. Niles would have never imagined he would fall asleep but he did, several times, and several times he awoke to the warmth and weight of Daphne against him, sometimes sleeping, sometimes crying softly. In instances of the latter he stroked her hair and, for lack of knowing what to say, hummed the only tune he could think of; the same song he and Daphne had sung together the night of her engagement. Because of their position she could not see the odd tear that ran down his face as the melody of 'My love is like a red, red rose,' eventually cradled her back to sleep.  
  
In the past Nile's hell had been in standing at the gates of heaven prevented first by his marriage, then by his cowardice and finally by Daphne's engagement, from ever going in. Now his heaven was at the gates of hell, in knowing that the woman he held would never truly be his; that her only happiness would be in the arms of another.  
  
The thought, avoided all night long, hit him like a punch with the day's first light.  
  
Feeling the miniscule jolt, Daphne sat up as if she had been awake for a while. She grimaced slightly as she straightened, probably stiff from their night on the couch. She smiled a shy smile at him, confirming what Niles had suspected for years: That nothing in this world could be as perfect as seeing Daphne's beautiful eyes first thing in the morning.  
  
He sat up as well and ignoring the shooting pain through his own limbs, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her away from him.  
  
He may not be an expert at massage the way she was but Daphne's body language told him he was doing a fair job. Even through the sweater she had slept in, he could feel her loosening up. He worked her upper back, her lower back, her arms, saving for last the riskiest part. Daphne gave a small gasp when his hands touched the bare skin at the nape of her neck and Niles forced himself to keep the motion steady so she would not see how touching her affected him.  
  
He managed to rub out most of the knots but Daphne stayed on guard for as long as his fingers kept direct contact. Because of the tension in her posture, it surprised him that when she turned around there were no traces of fear or blame on her face. There was some nervousness, but except for slightly flushed cheeks, the way she looked at him was the familiar way in which she had since they arrived. If trust had not yet been regained, there was still hope.  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Crane," she said softly.  
  
Whether it was for the massage, the night or for something completely different, Niles did not care. The feel of her skin, the smile on her face, the sound of her voice; this heaven was temporary but it was still heaven. And it was theirs for four more days.  
  
[to be continued] 


	10. Away from it all part 10

Sorry for the delay, there were some awful months to deal with and with so much going on I nearly forgot about this. So I dedicate this part to Mrs. Niles Crane, who wouldn't let me.  
  
Dedicated as well to the memory of Emily. I miss you every single day.  
  
Away from it All (part 10)  
  
Everything changed after that.  
  
Of course he expected it to, but it changed in a way very different from what he had anticipated. He thought that a session of soul baring and rejection would have made it impossible for them to ever look each other in the eye again, let alone stay in the cottage a moment longer. Instead, the nighttime confessions had forged a bond of deep trust. Not the kind of trust that allowed them to speak further about what had happened, but trust that there was someone to run to when they needed to escape their personal knife-wielding demons.  
  
Like children, they comforted and sought refuge in one another, knowing arms would open unquestioning and immediate. Time after time, Daphne would drop whatever she was doing and come to rest against him with a shaky sigh. It was hit and miss whether she would reach him before tears started streaming.  
  
If he was less aware of when he needed her, Daphne's psychic powers had never been more perfectly tuned. When she came to him, not to bury herself but to hold him, only then would he realise that there had in fact been a shift in his breathing, the start of a rising panic when the impending loss of Daphne crept beyond the borders of his subconscious.  
  
He had no idea how he would have survived, how he would survive in the future, without Daphne by his side, tenderly smoothing out his breaths, reminding him that for the time being at least, she was there.  
  
Never had he felt so loved.  
  
Never had he felt so wretched.  
  
He could not stop loving her. He did not even know how to begin to want to. Through Maris, Mel and Daphne's countless (nine) gentlemen friends, he had not been able to stop. "Why do you and your brother always think so much?" she had laughed at him countless times in the past. "Don't you ever just know something is right?"  
  
Not until he met her, he hadn't. Although it did take him a while to acknowledge that the feeling was love and even longer to realize it was a divine message that he and Daphne were meant for one another. Pity that his cosmically-tuned seraph had not received the same message. He loved her, she loved him not.  
  
Alarmed by the increasing number of heavy breathing incidences, Daphne tried to insist they go see a doctor. In order to protect both her from the truth and him from losing a second of their precious and finite time together, he led her to believe that hay fever (a rare type most malignant during winter months) was a troublesome but expected occurrence whenever he came to Shady Glenn. He was then forced to add nosebleeds were a further complication of the hay fever but Daphne accepted his lie with visible relief that they could finish out their week.  
  
Their week. He kept calling it a week even as minute after minute fell away. He had not meant to sleep at all but last night he and Daphne were working on the new puzzle and somehow... he had no idea how it had happened but suddenly it was morning. Someone – he preferred to think it was elves as an alternative to the only logical explanation – had removed his sweater, shoes and belt (belt!) and had undone the buttons on his cuffs and collar. She had also lifted his feet onto the couch and covered him with a blanket.  
  
"It's part of my job," she had said harmlessly, years ago during dinner at Frasier's. "I bathe and dress people who are too feeble to do it for themselves."  
  
"I look forward to the day I'm so lucky," Dad had said sarcastically.  
  
"So do I," Niles said before a swift under-the-table kick from Frasier forced him to amend: "That's quite a skill, Daphne."  
  
"I'll say," Daphne agreed. "How much do you want to bet I could have any one of you undressed and in bed within five minutes?"  
  
"One million dollars," the fevered words were followed by a sharp blow to the chest as Frasier backhanded him, knocking his breath out and preventing him from saying anything further.  
  
Well, it seemed he now owed her a million dollars. Or about 250 thousand, if one were going to pay by removed article of clothing. Should she be penalised or recompensed for managing to do what she did without waking him? Penalised, he decided. He definitely would have wanted to be conscious for the demonstration of this particular ability.  
  
His slick-fingered elf had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs, a tight fit, but he was happy she had made that choice. So happy to wake up to the vision he loved most until a glance at his watch told him that one night had made vanish six full hours of their time left together.  
  
Their week had been whittled down to merely three more days.  
  
His gasp had Daphne awake, out of her chair and at his side within an instant.  
  
The warmth of her body along his outer thigh. One hand on his chest, the other on his arm or gently in his hair. Moving. They had dispensed with paper bags when they discovered Daphne could calm him without. It was not difficult to convince his body to breathe when the air carried the scent of Daphne.  
  
He had memorised the flow of her expressions during these small crises: First the steady calm, with only the slightest edge of worry clipping her voice as she encouraged him to take a breath; eventually the softness of slightly lower lashes when both their breathing returned to normal. After a few moments of relief, the strange, flitting frown that dashed a quick mark between her eyebrows, as if she had been struck. Then that too evaporated and she waited with him the required forty to fifty seconds (he counted silently in Latin, French or Italian to take his mind off the closeness of her lips, the lingering hands...) to make certain he was really all right.  
  
This morning, after the worst attack, cinquanta had become sessanta, then settanta... ottanta... and her eyes had filled. He had pulled her into his arms. He did not know what was going through her mind but it was perhaps best that he did not. In a way he envied her: They might both be mourning the loss of the one they loved but at least Daphne could be open about it.  
  
Three more days. That had been this morning. Now it was afternoon. Pressed tighter than ever against the gates of hell, waiting for them to fall open. He could either not think about it and save himself some agony, or he choke on the thought and let Daphne's arms surround him, seeping out some of the pain.  
  
His heart. His heart ached. Three more days. He tried to see the brighter side, the silver lining, the bigger picture, but when he tilted his half-full cup he saw that it contained not water but bitter poison.  
  
A sharp glance from Daphne, a quick hand on his knee. The acrid fumes of the venom had made him wheeze. The women from the inn had left a gift of home-made soaps with their last delivery. Today Daphne's hair smelled of cucumber, strawberry and peppermint and the perfume wove through the toxins, neutralizing and dissipating.  
  
They were building the rooftops of London. It was how they filled in time between meals. They made no ambitious plans, did nothing special. Nothing more than what let them be together and, just as importantly, make time move slowly.  
  
He had not counted the pieces this time. They had completed less than a tenth of the puzzle, not even all sides. They worked without looking at the cover picture. Anything to slow it down even further.  
  
Daphne had put together another steeple. Their arms brushed often when they reached forward. From the moment Niles had first met Daphne he had automatically measured space between them, longingly mapping the easiest way to close that gap. Of course, the gap always remained.  
  
Six years later reaching out to touch Daphne was no longer the problem. The problem now was letting go.  
  
You have to, he told himself. His psychiatrist's mind tried to make him feel better: At least you know now how she feels. At least you can stop wondering and one day get on with your life.  
  
Daphne was now trying to match a red piece to a completed red section. She conceded defeat and tossed the piece back into the orphan pile. Niles' breath staggered in his throat as she fell against him with a tired, frustrated sigh.  
  
"Love is a complicated thing, isn't it?" she asked. It was her first full sentence in over an hour. "Uh," Niles squeaked, wondering if she could hear as well as feel the loud beating inside his chest.  
  
"Psychiatrists study this sort of thing, don't they? Don't they have some simple, stuffed-shirt explanation?" Her summer garden hair billowed against his neck and face.  
  
"This may not be the most popular theory among professional psychiatrists but I, for one believe that love is ruled by the heart and that it is circumstances, not the heart that makes things complicated." "Oh." Daphne breathed the sound out like fire, angrily, as if were the last thing she wanted to hear. "It is difficult, or else impossible to dissect attraction," Niles tried to concentrate on his own words. "My colleagues have been trying for over a century, yet have never come as close to understanding love as, say, Shakespeare." "The course of love never did run smooth, and all that?"  
  
"A Midsummer Night's Dream," Niles said in surprise.  
  
"I did go to school, you know," Daphne sat up, but she looked amused rather than offended.  
  
Marry me. Niles bit down on his lip to keep wild words caged. He was, in fact, one of the stuffed shirts who once tried to interpret the whys and wherefores of love for his patients. For himself as well and, during his early years of marriage to Maris, so he would have something to tell his mother when she so often asked, "But in god's name, why her?" It had been an epiphany when all his rationalization and theories stopped being relevant or even believable. Ever since he had met and fallen incongruously, yet deeply, in love with Daphne. Being a condemned man did have the advantage of making one bold. Niles brushed scented wisps back from his beloved's cheek. He tried to look as brotherly as possible as Daphne's eyes searched his, maybe looking for evidence of more. He smiled fondly but innocently, determined not to scare her away, and they both returned to the safety of the skies and chimneys of London.  
  
He supposed it should concern him that Mel was retreating further and further into his memory. The ring was still in his pocket, with him like a curse. The only times it saw daylight now was when he transferred it to the day's new attire. It belonged to a different reality but a reality nonetheless. He carried it and clutched it when he needed that dose of reality. To prevent him from saying something incredibly stupid. Like the truth.  
  
##  
  
The sun went down but Daphne told herself that as long as they were still awake the day was not truly over.  
  
Although the night air was chilly, it was warmer than it had been and March was finally starting to feel less like February. It reassured Daphne that neither love nor misery quashed her need to spend a bit of each day out doors. It made her believe that after this weekend a bit of her would still remain. Even if it was just a little bit.  
  
To Daphne, spring had always been the real start of the New Year. March had a freshness and optimism January merely waited for and Daphne knew she would need both to cope with what was almost her first year as a married woman.  
  
Remorse over what she had done to Donny continued to bite deep with sharp fangs. She supposed she would suffer that for the rest of her life and certainly she deserved to. It helped a little to know that she had done the right thing. Very late in the game and breaking Donny's heart in the process, but it was the right thing. It felt even more right, being here. She knew – or wanted to believe – that she would have never been able to come here if she were still engaged to Donny. Calling off the engagement made it possible for her now to be with the one she loved.  
  
A lifetime traded in for a single week.  
  
Stars glittered around a pale sliver of moon. Moments like these it seemed like a bargain. Most bad decisions do, before consequences catch up with you. She would need springtime later on when she was alone. She would need beauty and newness and the comfort of friends. For now, this lovely evening was almost wasted on her; she would not mind being in a blizzard or even at the opera. Being in love had a way of making anywhere seem ideal.  
  
Since yesterday, she had not been a few feet away from Dr. Crane for more than the time it took to shower or change. And if she were to talk about the times she felt most empty it would in fact be the time it took for her to shower or change. She could not explain it. It was as if her insides were a giant magnet like the ones they had in science lab at school. The force of the pull had always fascinated her, especially when she held it near something large and heavy enough to drag the magnet in Daphne's hand towards it. There was something magical about invisible powers, like magnetic force. Like psychic ability. Like love.  
  
Dr Crane had not disappeared into his study today. Every night he had excused himself for about half an hour after dinner. That would make it about 10 or 11pm in Atlanta, wouldn't it? Not that she ever asked out loud. She knew he was going into his study to call Mel and she had to give him that. Just as she had to give him the odd moment when his eyes would look nowhere in particular and his hand would absently but automatically delve into a pocket searching for the ring he did not know she knew was there. If she made any sudden move or if he remembered her presence he immediately pulled his hand out as quickly and guiltily as if had been raiding a cookie jar. While choosing clothes after her shower she thought about her own rings and wondered whether it would make her feel better to carry one of those around, just to even out the playing field. It was a stupid thought. His ring was real, hers a mistake.  
  
What would their lives be like after this week? What had they been like before. She could barely remember. Before was such a long time ago. It was not just before this weekend, it was before Mel, before Daphne found out about his feelings for her. Before Donny? Or just before Donny's proposal? If he still loved her, it must have broken his heart to hear him say she would marry someone else. "He's crazy about you," her drug-ridden boss had said. He had used the present tense but Dr. Crane was already with Mel at the time. These were the kinds of circles that could drive a person mad, a one hundred thousand piece puzzle that made the rooftops of London seem like – in the words of Mr. Crane – chickenfeed.  
  
So, what was it like before? She had noticed only gradually that he had stopped coming by as often, but of course never connected that to her engagement. She had been so busy with work and wedding plans, it had been a bit of a shock when she finally figured out that the reason she was lonely when alone was because she missed her boss' brother. She had called him and asked him to join her and Donny for dinner. He had seemed so surprised to hear from her and thanked her for the invitation but he had other plans. Daphne had promised herself once all the wedding and honeymoon business was over, she would make a greater effort. Even with all the millions of things going on it was perplexing how much she missed her friend.  
  
Shortly after she had found out he was in love with her.  
  
So, what was it like before? He used to come over quite frequently, after squash or some event with his brother. For dinner, of course, and sometimes for breakfast or to watch a movie with the family. Often, though, he came over and stayed even if neither his brother nor father were at home. He helped or kept her company when she ran errands or walked Eddie or did housework. She used to tease him about that. He had a housekeeper for his grand apartment yet traveled all the way to his brother's just to find himself folding laundry.  
  
They used to talk quite a bit. Nothing deep, just this and that. They laughed – he could be very funny. They used to sing. How could she have forgotten about that? Maybe because its one of those things that one doesn't think about, just something they did. After all, it wasn't as if they gathered round the piano and worked on some aria or something. They just sang. Daphne had been told in her boss' complaining tones that she often hummed or broke into song when she worked. She supposed that's how it got started.  
  
When she and Dr. Niles Crane where alone in the house, him waiting for his brother or father to come home, she would only realise she had been singing when he joined in with his voice and sometimes the piano. With time a little game had evolved; one of them changed songs in midstream and challenged the other to follow. Over the years they had refined the game until they could stick to songs which shared similar themes or titles. She was quite proud of what a good team they made.  
  
Dr. Crane pulled out his handkerchief and held it out to her. Daphne took it silently. She used to burst into song without realising it. Now it was just tears.  
  
She tried to remember the last time they had played their singing game. It was a late afternoon and he was helping her set the table for dinner. Was that the time they were singing songs with the word summer or.... No, it was 'dream'. She was singing 'All I have to do is dream,' and he joined in. Then she moved on to Mr. Sandman and Dream Lover. Goodness, they had gone on forever. He had added a couple of his own but she could not remember them all. Dream a little dream, A dream is a wish your heart makes, Once upon a dream... Somehow the key word had changed which may have been Daphne's doing or maybe his and she didn't' notice. The new word was kiss; Kisses sweeter than wine, Sealed with a kiss, Kiss me, and such. It had gotten silly at the end, both cheating with made-up lyrics, singing things like the Magical Mr. Kisstoffoles. As often happened, they had both finally collapsed with laughter.  
  
Would he join in if she started singing now? Would they spend the last of their three days singing songs about tears? About heartbreak?  
  
About friendship?  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked.  
  
"Just thinking about Donny." Now what had made her say that? Perhaps the fact that she should be thinking about Donny. Returning to the real world would not only mean the final loss of the man she was in love with, it would be to a dozen loose ends still dangling from the hatchet job she had done on her ex-fiancé. As far as most people were concerned, the wedding was still on. Letters would have to be written, phone calls made, catering, flowers, musicians, hotel reservations and flight tickets cancelled. Family faced.  
  
She would never hear the end of it from Mum. Or her brothers.  
  
She glanced at Dr. Crane but for a change he was not looking at her. He was staring at the lake, his hand deep in his pocket. With the ring.  
  
She had once described Dr. Niles Crane as sort of like an older brother. To Annie, most likely. One of those storybook older brothers, nothing like her real brothers. In her family it had not so much been everyone for himself as everyone see what you can do to torment everyone else. In her family no one had had the time or inclination to complain which was why complaints of others were not tolerated. The only one she ever talked to about anything of importance was her brother Steven. Not for sympathy, but always good for a cheering up.  
  
Stephen was the only brother she called personally to tell about her engagement.  
  
"Duck?" Stephen's had shouted incredulously over the phone. It was a very bad connection.  
  
"Doug! Doug-las!" Daphne had shouted back. "Donny Douglas!"  
  
"Donny as in Donald? Donald Duck?" Steven burst out laughing. "Donald and Daphy Duck?"  
  
Daphne had started laughing too. She always did once Stephen got started. Donald and Daphne Duck. When she thought about it, it was quite hilarious.  
  
"Something funny?" Dr. Crane asked. She must have chuckled at the memory. She could still feel her lips stretched into a smile.  
  
"Just thinking about names," she said. "Did you know, Mum never let me forget I had a heathen name? She had always wanted a girl named for royalty, but by the time I came around she'd given up on having a girl and had used up all the queens' names up on pets. The way Dad tells the story is, he was having a drink at the pub when I was born and right about that time someone told him about a decent bit of skirt he'd met once. That's who I'm named after, a decent bit of skirt."  
  
"Beautiful Daphne, daughter of a river god." Dr. Crane corrected. "Rejected every suitor, including the god Apollo." "Rejected every suitor," Daphne repeated sadly. The nymph Daphne had lived out the end of her days as a tree. By choice. Dr. Crane moved to the stair above hers and arms slid around in a brotherly, protective manner.   
  
"Thy name is like the prayer an angel whispers." he said.  
  
"That's Dulcinea."  
  
"Daphne," he insisted gently. "Daphne." And it did indeed sound like the whisper of an angel.  
  
She thought sometimes she would like him to stop being so nice. If only he were impatient or stubborn or unreasonable or selfish, just once. Or even if he would stop putting her first as he was so obviously doing and had done all week. If he were to do something outside the marvelous maybe she could... but then she realised she had tried this all before. Weeks ago, when she was still trying to sort out her feelings she had made a mental list of everything wonderful about Donny and everything not wonderful about Dr. Crane. One by one she had fixed upon Dr. Crane's nervous habits, the way he always tried to impress his father or compete with his brother (all they really had to compete about was which of the two was more insecure and pretentious), his bizarre mistrust of anything with dust, fur or, well, a surface.  
  
The list could have gone on forever but in the end stayed quite short. Whatever she came up with did not feel important. Worse still, not only did the items not bother her, all they really did successfully was plant him more firmly in her mind, taking up space which rightfully belonged to her fiancé. Besides, he could be a serial murderer for all her ridiculous heart cared.  
  
Daphne snuggled closer to the married man. Hoping he would not notice, she kissed her fingertips then reached back over her shoulder to touch his face. As she did, the now familiar but no less frightening shift in his breathing started again.  
  
Not moving from her warm nest, placed her palm flat against his cheek, caressing it. She pressed her body back a bit to better feel when his lungs were taking more natural breaths.  
  
Dr. Crane took hand and pressed it tightly to his cheek. With his other arm around her body it was impossible now to turn around. He gasped a couple of times, gave a choke, but just as Daphne was growing truly frightened, he led her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. Then he returned her hand to her and used both his arms to hug her twice as tightly as before.  
  
Now it was Daphne who had stopped breathing. The fear she felt for his life, the need with which he held her hand and held her, not to mention the feel of his lips, so alive and intense she felt she could burst into flame right there. If she curled her fingers into her palm their kisses would meet. If she loved him even the slightest bit more she would explode, she just knew it.  
  
"We should go inside," he said a million years later.  
  
"If we must." But she held onto his arms knowing how she would miss them when they were gone. It was like pulling off a plaster, every time. Best to do it fast, but it was going to hurt either way. She did not budge and with her leaning against him and holding his arms to her, he could not move either.  
  
A star streaked across the sky.  
  
"This is my favourite place in the world," she said.  
  
"I'd like it if you thought of it as your home," he answered. "Anytime you need it."  
  
It was a lovely and generous offer and Daphne thanked him. It did not matter that he did not know that she was not talking about the cottage. She was talking about his arms. He was her favourite place in the world.  
  
Better do it quickly. She let go and moved enough for him to stand. She stayed seated, her blood and muscle draining out as he left her. As if understanding that she needed a minute, Dr. Crane took a few steps down the path, looking out towards the lake, his hands stuffed hard into his jacket pockets.  
  
The stair creaked as Daphne shifted to stand and he turned immediately, remembering himself. He whipped his hands out to help her up and as he did, that same flash of gold Daphne had seen twice before and never forgotten flew into the air, soaring, arcing, falling, clinking and dancing prettily as it hit the pebbles of path until it finally came to a glittering rest in the moonlight.  
  
They stood facing each other but staring at the ring, her hands still holding his as tightly as he held hers. Their eyes met and they gazed at each other helplessly.  
  
The secret was out.  
  
...  
  
[Home stretch, people. Only one more chapter to go.] 


End file.
